She\u2019s so beautiful<\/em>\u2026<\/p>\nHer creator had crafted her simply; a white painted face, two dots for eyes and a penciled line of red for a smile.\u00a0 She wore a pink smock trimmed with a ruffle, no sequins or stockings or slippers.\u00a0 Yet her form was elegant.\u00a0\u00a0 Her wooden arms were arched in a pose that looked like praise.<\/p>\n
Memories began to surface as I held the ornament in my hand. \u00a0In an instant, I was a little girl again and it was Christmas morning. \u00a0As my other siblings slept, I sat in our living room on my fathers lap.\u00a0 Underneath our twinkling tree the presents were piled high.<\/p>\n
\u201cHo..HO\u2026HO\u2026\u201d my father said, grinning. He handed me a small package.\u00a0\u00a0 I happily tore away the wrapping and found a small music box.\u00a0 I opened the lid and a ballerina sprang up, her pink tutu glittering<\/p>\n
I watched as my dad wound the box with a golden key. With each crank, the dancer twirled to a tune that sounded like clock chimes. \u00a0It sounded like music from heaven.<\/p>\n
\u201cSomeday I\u2019ll dance too\u2026\u201d\u00a0 I thought.<\/p>\n
But it was not to be.<\/p>\n
With 8 brothers and sisters, my parents couldn\u2019t afford dance lessons. \u00a0As the years of my childhood passed, I spent many afternoons watching the dance recitals of my young friends.\u00a0 In high school, even though I practiced for weeks, I missed the final cut for the dance line. \u00a0\u00a0When I was a sophomore in college, I took a ballroom dance class. \u00a0By then, I had learned to laugh my way through unmastered rhythms and steps.\u00a0 My good-natured classmates chuckled at my exaggerated twirls.<\/p>\n
But now, as I cradled the little ballerina, I closed my eyes. \u00a0\u201cMaybe someday my child will dance. \u201c\u00a0 I said.<\/p>\n
The cashier wrapped the ornament in layers of tissue paper as I felt the first pains of labor.\u00a0 \u00a0\u201cIt\u2019s time\u2026\u201d\u00a0 I told myself.<\/p>\n
I tucked the ornament into my purse.<\/p>\n
Later that night, at 9:46 pm, Sarah Marie was born.\u00a0 Forty Five minutes later, I was recovering in a maternity ward bed.\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 As I rocked my newborn, Don looked on. \u00a0We couldn\u2019t stop smiling.<\/p>\n
But our joy was short lived.\u00a0 Soon a team of doctors began gathering around my bedside.\u00a0 They wore surgical blues and held clipboards. They paced nervously.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe believe your baby has Down\u2019s syndrome\u201d one doctor said.\u00a0 His voice sounded like a whisper.<\/p>\n
A profound stillness filled the room.<\/p>\n
We had made plans for a child much different than the one he was describing.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere are support groups here at the hospital for parents of the handicapped\u201d another doctor suggested.<\/p>\n
\u201cParents of the handicapped.\u201d\u00a0 It was an identity that demanded a surrendering of dreams.<\/p>\n
Midnight came. In the dim light of the maternity ward, Sarah slept in a little crib right next to my bed.\u00a0 I looked in wonder at her tiny face.\u00a0 I searched for signs of a disability but all I could see was the loveliness of a little girl.<\/p>\n
Her eyelashes were long and curled.\u00a0 Her skin was blushed.\u00a0 There was a little dimple on her left cheek.<\/p>\n
My little ballerina\u2026<\/em><\/p>\nWith misting eyes, I reached for a Kleenex in my purse.\u00a0 But instead, I found the tissue-wrapped ornament.<\/p>\n
I peeled away each layer of wrapping.<\/p>\n
The ballerina was broken\u2026<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
It\u2019s been over two and a half decades since that snowy evening.<\/p>\n
Tonight I\u2019m sitting in front of our Christmas tree. Outside my living room windows, snowflakes are falling.\u00a0 On the very top branch of the tree hangs the broken ballerina.\u00a0 The glue marks that have held her together for years are still visible.\u00a0 But the keepsake is precious to me. \u00a0Each time I look at the ornament, I think of Sarah.<\/p>\n
God gave her just twenty three years on earth. \u00a0Sarah\u2019s life, though brief, was a sacred balance of beauty and brokenness.<\/p>\n
Of course, it was her brokenness that most of the world noticed.\u00a0 Like all children with Down\u2019s syndrome, Sarah had slanted eyes and low muscle tone.\u00a0 Her speech was impaired.\u00a0 She wore thick glasses and never functioned beyond the level of a second grader.<\/p>\n
There were times when her handicap was hard on our hearts.\u00a0 Other children in the neighborhood often joked about her appearance.\u00a0 Over the years, Sarah\u2019s two younger sisters, Christina and Rachael, endured many ignorant and cruel remarks. \u00a0There were health concerns and medical bills.\u00a0 All of this put a strain on our marriage.<\/p>\n
But Sarah\u2019s brokenness could never diminish her beauty. \u00a0From the moment we brought her home from the hospital, she was like a candle that could never be snuffed out.\u00a0 Her eyes were filled with light.\u00a0 Her smile was radiant.\u00a0 The love she imparted shimmered in our home.<\/p>\n
Each member of our family was transformed by her presence.\u00a0 Christina and Rachael are recent college grads. Both of them have chosen professions that advocate for persons with Special Needs. Though Don and I divorced ten years ago, we remained bonded by the love we have for our children and our cherished memories of Sarah.\u00a0 As a teacher, Don has a framed picture of Sarah in his high school classroom. \u201cMy students like hearing about her,\u201d Don often says.\u00a0 We are a very imperfect family but God continues to bless us richly.<\/p>\n
On this snowy night, I\u2019m dreaming as I did during my first pregnancy. If I close my eyes, I can see Sarah dancing in heaven. \u00a0The image is wondrous to behold.\u00a0 It reminds me that sometimes dreams come true in unexpected ways.<\/p>\n
For it was Sarah who taught me the dance of faith.<\/p>\n
Without Sarah, I would\u2019ve never heard the sweet music of grace.\u00a0 I would\u2019ve missed the opportunity to twirl in the rhythms of hope. \u00a0The waltz of true love and unconditional acceptance would never have been learned.<\/p>\n
In the world\u2019s eyes, Sarah was broken and disabled.\u00a0 But she was the daughter of my dreams.\u00a0\u00a0 She guided me to the outstretched hand of God.<\/p>\n
This Christmas, turn your ear to the music of heaven.<\/p>\n
If you are broken, take hold of God\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n
The dance of faith is waiting to be learned.<\/p>\n
All rights reserved.<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n
\u00a0<\/p>\n<\/body><\/html>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
This is a guest post by Nancy Jo Sullivan, author of Small Mercies. I will be celebrating Christmas with my family for the rest of this week, so please check back in next Monday for more. During my first pregnancy, I dreamed of having a little girl. In my imagination, she wore a pink tutu […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4,5,6,7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3154","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-down-syndrome","category-faith","category-family","category-perfectly-human"],"yoast_head":"\n
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