Like Mike (And the man at the Pool).

My brother was born with down syndrome. Due to his mental handicap, he perceives the world differently than I do. Things I would never do are no big deal to him. He doesn't have as much of a filter as me. Sometimes thats a great thing, other times it's life-threatening (like the time he thought he was superman and jumped out my bedroom window). But overall, Mike teaches me an incredible amount about my faith.

While visiting America this last time, we attended one of his baseball games. Mike walked up to the plate convinced he was going to do something SO BIG that everyone would remember him forever. He picked up that bat, strode to the home plate, pointed out at the pitcher as if to warn her of the pending doom, and then took charge. After a few missed swings, he knocked the ball into the field and somehow managed a home run out of it! With his slow running pace and half the fielders being in wheel chairs, the odds were not necessarily in his favor but he pulled it off :)

In John 9, Jesus heals a man born blind. Everyone knew him by his blindness (vs 8 says 'His neighbors and those who had formerly seen him begging asked, "isn't this the same man who used to sit and beg?"'), and he was therefore treated accordingly. Jesus doesn't waste much time, or need anything fancy with which to heal this man.

He spits in the dirt, makes some mud, and wipes it on the mans eyes. Then he asked the man for enough faith to walk to the pool and wash the mud off, which the man does. And then, the man can see.

Im not a rocket scientist or anything, but this seems like an unexplainable situation. It seems like a miracle. The tiny itty bitty blind faith of a blind man mixed with the saliva of Jesus turned a man born blind into a man no longer blind.

It makes me think of my brother striding up to the home plate, ready to hit that game-winning home run. Or smiling and sweet-talking at a pretty lady, totally sure she will think he is the greatest man who ever lived. Or even jumping out the window, convinced he can fly. There isn't much thought involved when it comes to Mike. He just acts, in faith, on what he knows. He's got the faith of a little child, helped by the mental capacity of a little child too.

Sometimes I think my brain gets in the way of my joy. If I could think less, rejoice more. Im certain of it, because I often talk myself out of doing so many things that Jesus would probably love--like dancing in the aisle at church or telling some sweet hurting soul about his love or extending a kind word when Im mistreated.

I want to be like Mike, who Jesus loves. I know he loves me too, but Im sure I could draw nearer unto Him if I left my thinking at home and let him rub some mud on the eyes of my soul.

And so, this is my ode to Mike, who teaches me so much about faith, simplicity, joy, and Christ.