God made Jonathan different.
Even before he was born, he was not like other children. “Something is wrong this time,” the doctor told his parents sadly, shaking his head. “We heard twins before, but now I can only find one heartbeat.”
And the doctor was right. When Jonathan was born, his twin brother had already died. And although Jonathan did live, he was very different from his four brothers and sisters. His head was very small, and his muscles were stiff and uncontrollable. As he grew, he did not learn to talk, or to crawl, or to feed himself. He could not sit up, even with help, because his back was stiff and would arch backwards on its own. Even his hands were constantly clenched and useless, and he could not grasp things like other babies.
And as time went on, his family realized that he was very nearly blind. He could only see them—and then not clearly—when they leaned in very close to his face. So his mother and father, sisters and brothers fed him, carried him, talked to him, and sang to him, and did for him all the things he could not do for himself.
And they loved him fiercely. Through all the trials and difficulties, they thanked God for their special little boy, and for his brother who would be waiting to meet them someday in heaven.
Although Jonathan knew he was different, he did not understand why. Most of the time, it did not matter—his family loved him, and he was happy. But sometimes he wondered.
He loved to listen to his sisters, Kimberly and Jill, talk and giggle together. He always smiled and laughed at the sounds of their cheerful voices, especially when they spoke to him in their loving way. “Hey, Jonathan,” they would say. “Come on, Jonathan, smile for us—can you smile for us? Just look at that big smile!” But he could not understand what they were saying. And although he wanted to answer them, he did not know how to make the words.
He loved to play with his brothers, Matthew and Mark. But they ran around the house and yard on their legs, and used their hands to hold and throw things. How do they do it? he wondered. Why can’t I?
Almost every day, Kimberly would carry him to the piano and hold him in her lap while she practiced—sometimes for hours at a time. Jonathan loved the music and the attention, and he would sit there with her for as long as his stiff, uncooperative body would allow, listening enraptured, and making small, happy sounds as if begging her to play on and on and on.
But best of all was when the entire family would stand together and sing. His mother or Kim would sit at the piano, his father would play his guitar, and sometimes one of his brothers would even join in on the drums. And one of them would always hold him—right there in the middle of it all—as they lifted their voices together, each singing a different part, until the harmonies blended together into that wonderful sound that wrapped Jonathan in delight and carried him away to secret, magical places. How he wished he could sing with them!
He loved to be held—the feel of his father’s arms around him, his mother’s familiar softness as she cradled him, his Ma-maw’s fond caress on his cheek—these were the best feelings in the world. Next to their music, he loved their voices best, gently calling his name, speaking to him in that quiet tone that he knew was just for him. And he especially loved it when they said to him—over and over—the four words that he knew, the only four words that he was sure he understood:
“Jonathan, I love you—I love you, Jonathan...I love you!”
* * *
One night, Jonathan did not feel well. He could not go to sleep, and he cried when his mother set him down. So she took him in her arms for a while, held him and talked to him, walked with him, and murmured quiet words of comfort. But by now he was almost six years old, and too heavy for her to carry for very long. So at last, she sank into an old overstuffed recliner, laid his head against her chest, and as they rocked together, began to sing softly.
Baby’s boat’s a silver moon, sailing through the sky —
Sailing o’er the seas of sleep while the stars go by;
Sail, Baby, sail—out among the seas —
Only don’t forget to sail...back again to me.
It felt good to snuggle up against her. She sang on, her low voice and the soothing familiar melodies finally lulling him to sleep.
Jesus loves me, this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to Him belong,
they are weak, but He is strong.
Finally, Jonathan slept. His mother did not want to wake him by moving, so before long, she slept, too.
It was several hours later when Jonathan suddenly woke up. Someone had called his name. He opened his eyes and listened. It had not been his mother’s voice—she was asleep, and the house was quiet. It was very late, and his bedroom window was etched with darkness. But the room was flooded with light.
“Jonathan,” he heard again.
He turned toward the voice curiously. He wished whoever it was would move nearer, much nearer, so he might see who it was. But instead, a hand reached out and touched his eyes, once, very softly. Jonathan blinked in surprise, and when he opened his eyes again, he could see. Not like before—only from up close, then so...so dimly. No, now he could see! He could see everything!
A man was leaning over him. And the soft glow that soothed the darkness came from his face. Amazed, Jonathan’s eyes devoured every detail. The man’s bearded face was quiet and beautiful. His eyes were kind and full of laughter, and he gazed at Jonathan with a smile so full of love that the boy immediately wanted to reach out to him. But he could not.
Jonathan could not remember ever having seen him before, or having heard his voice. But somehow, he was not a stranger. Who are you? Jonathan wanted to ask. But he did not know the words, or how to speak them.
The man began to stroke Jonathan’s cheek, and his touch was even softer and kinder than Mommy’s. His face was not familiar, but it was perfect in every way—except that he had long, deep scars all over his forehead.
He loves me, Jonathan knew.
More than Kimberly and Matthew? he wondered.
Yes.
More than Jill and Mark?
Yes, more than Jill and Mark.
But not more than Daddy and Mommy. No one could love him more than Daddy and Mommy.
But as he stared at that beautiful, scarred face, he somehow knew, No one in the whole world loves me more than you do.
But who are you?
The man seemed to know how desperately Jonathan longed to speak to him. He stretched out his hand and gently traced the outline of Jonathan’s mouth. Then he spoke. “Talk to me, Jonathan,” he said softly.
Instantly, the words came to Jonathan’s tongue. “Who are you?” he asked, listening in wonder to the sound of his own voice.
“My name is Jesus,” the man replied simply. “I made you.”
“Jesus?” Jonathan said. “I’ve heard that name before. Mommy sings about you all the time.” He frowned in thought. “But how does she know you? I’ve never seen you here before.”
“Your mommy has known me for many years,” the man replied. “We speak together often. But tonight, I came to see you.”
“Why?”
“Because I have many things to tell you,” he smiled. “Get up and come with me.”
Jonathan’s face clouded with worry. “But I can’t. Mommy has to carry me everywhere I go, and she’s asleep.”
The man laughed, then gently lifted Jonathan out of his mother’s arms and set him on his own feet. Jonathan looked about him in confusion, then suddenly realized that he was standing. His feet felt strange, but strong and good, and the world looked wonderfully different from this angle.
The man stepped back and held out his hand to Jonathan. “Walk to me,” he said.
Jonathan did. He was surprised at how simple it was. He took the man’s hand and looked up at him with growing wonder.
“Let’s go for a walk,” Jesus suggested.
Jonathan hesitated. “But what about Mommy?” he asked.
Jesus looked at Jonathan’s mother. She had not awakened at their voices or when Jesus had taken Jonathan from her arms. Her face showed exhaustion, even in sleep, and was creased with lines of concern and fatigue. He let go of Jonathan and took her hand in his. Kissing her forehead softly, he whispered to her, “Don’t be troubled, Mary—all is well.”
Even before he had finished speaking, Jonathan saw her tense face relax. Then she curled up comfortably in the chair and fell far beyond dreams into that deepest kind of sleep.
“Now we can go,” Jesus said, taking Jonathan’s hand again. “Your mother has worked hard. We’ll let her rest.”
“Okay,” said Jonathan. Together, they walked hand in hand to the front door. Both of them seemed to understand that Mary might wake up if they unlocked and opened the door. So instead, they walked through it and into the night.