Room for the Tenderhearted
Tell me, and I forget. Teach me, and I may remember. Involve me, and I learn.
— Benjamin Franklin
In Hosea 4, the Lord says His people are destroyed for lack of knowledge. There is a kind of ignorance that keeps us from God because it refuses to learn, to understand, and to show compassion. Yet when it comes to children with special needs, we must be careful not to confuse adversity with punishment. As in the question asked of Jesus about the blind man, suffering is not always the result of personal or parental sin. Sometimes, what looks like adversity becomes the very place where God reveals His mercy, purpose, and glory.
Joppa and Friends were born in the midst of adversity. Mahle the Spotted Lamb came to me in 2007 during a season when my pain was still raw. The Lord was leading me through a wilderness of rejection, resentment, anger, sorrow, and isolation. Living with a noticeable disability, I often felt the sting of people recoiling, cringing, or dismissing me. I had a few friends, but I felt completely alone. Yet God, in His mercy, took that pain and began birthing stories: Mahle the Spotted Lamb, Joppa the Ostrich, Milo, Rafi-Owl, Hippii the Hippo, and many more. Each one became part of my personal healing journey.
In this season, my heart is especially drawn toward advocating for children with special needs, children who are neglected, dismissed, misunderstood, or bullied. Awareness matters because it reminds us that we are not problems to solve, but human beings with tender hearts. I have learned through my own life that small acts of kindness can pull a person out of the pit of despair. They can become the very place where healing begins from the inside out.
Children with special needs do not want pity. They want inclusion. They want to be part of lunchtime conversations, invited into group projects, and welcomed onto the team. Who cares if they miss the basket? It doesn’t matter if they don’t run as fast or if the weights are too heavy. Lighten the load.
I will never forget a painful experience at ASU when students did not want me in their group. I was so humiliated that I cried in my car and never returned. I felt dismissed and stupid. Later, I realized trauma had affected my processing and caused brain fog. Trauma doesn’t define me; I needed more time than others to process. Now, when I look back, I can see that even that awkward and painful moment bore fruit. Joppa and Milo turned it into a story called Dry Crumbs. God did not waste the wound.
When I tell some people I work with students in special education, they look at the students and say, with surprise, that they seem completely normal. Their expression is often telling. It makes me wonder: what exactly is normal? I don’t serve these students because I am an expert standing above them. I serve them while also living with my own special needs. Joppa carries ADHD. Milo carries chronic anxiety and panic attacks. Hippii carries memory struggles. Each character was born out of places in me that needed healing, understanding, and gentle care.
I am not ashamed of this. In truth, I often learn more from the students than they learn from me. There are moments when I have panic attacks for no obvious reason, and students will ask if I am okay. When I tell them I have an anxious heart, they sometimes answer with such beautiful honesty: “You’re like me.” In that moment, the distance falls away. We are no longer separated by labels, assumptions, or appearances. We are simply human beings with tender hearts, meeting one another in truth. We are part of the Neuro Tribes (Steve Silberman, 2015).
One autistic student wanted to be friends with another student who was also on the spectrum. Yet because they presented differently and functioned at different levels, building a connection was not easy. Even so, different does not mean impossible. It simply means we may need more patience, more listening, more understanding, and more room to find common ground.
This is what love does. It lightens the load. It slows down. It makes room. It does not mock weakness or measure worth by performance. It sees the tender heart beneath the struggle and says, You belong here too.
Sacred Pause
Whose load have I made heavier by impatience, ignorance, or judgment?
Where is God asking me to slow down, make room, and love with greater understanding?
Have I mistaken difference for deficiency, or weakness for lack of worth?
Prayer of Repentance
Lord Jesus, forgive me for the ways I have judged others by outward appearance, grown impatient with those who process differently, or failed to make room for the tenderhearted. Forgive me for every time I have added weight instead of helping carry it. Teach me to lighten the load, to welcome those who feel left out, and to honor the dignity of every child and every person You have made. Heal the places in me that still carry shame, and use even my wounded places to bring comfort, understanding, and belonging to others. In Jesus’ name, amen.