My child has a gift.

It’s a beautiful thing.

He can weave a story, compose a tale and create elaborate characters in his mind. He can visualize detailed images and then give them shape on the paper in front of him. He longs to write a chronicle, act out a play or sing in a musical.

But it’s sometimes hard to see what’s inside a gift. Imagine mismatched paper glued tightly around a cardboard box. Think of masking tape torn and twisted, holding it all together.

The messy handwriting. The misspelled words. The trouble with reading. They sometimes hide what’s inside.

We ask why is it more difficult for him to learn to ride his bike, to venture down the waterslide, to catch a ball? Why does he always spill the milk, drop crumbs on the floor, bump into things? Why is it so hard for him to figure out how to open a container or use the remote control?

There are names and labels. Words and terms that might offer an explanation. Do any of them fit? They don’t sound pretty.

They can’t begin to describe him. They can’t begin to describe a kid with so much determination, even when he has to work so hard. So much compassion for the feelings of those around him. So much sensitivity for the needs of others. Such a desire to do what is right. To understand spiritual things.

So much creativity and joy.

My child has a gift.

It’s a beautiful thing.

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