When the Spirit Moves

His language, difficult to understand when he asks for prayers for his mother or tells us again that his birthday is next week.

She sits strapped into a wheelchair so that her spastic movements, a discordant dance, don't toss her onto the floor. Her attendant wipes her mouth when she doesn't swallow.

He lives in a group home and buys a coffee at a corner store.

She is fed communion bread dipped in grape juice.

Sunday he sat in front of me and when the basket passed down the row he turned and noted that she didn't have any money.

He stood up and walked over to her wheelchair and placed a dollar on her tray-- the same tray that held a placemat of words and pictures.

When he sat down he looked around for the usher who when she approached couldn't make out what he was saying-- so he pointed to the wheelchair.

She held tightly to the dollar, but couldn't release. The usher helped her find the basket. She let out a sound that could be translated even though no vowels or consonants were present.

This gift, I thought, is what Jesus meant when he said follow me.