dale

The summer after I graduated from college, I interned at a non-profit organization that worked with at-risk youth. This was an incredible experience full of incredible kids. One of these was Dale. Dale was the kind of kid you knew was in the room the minute he stepped into it. He was loud, he was funny, and he didn’t shower often, so he was a little gamey. Dale was developmentally disabled and 15, although you’d never have guessed he was that old. Sometimes we had the hardest time with Dale, because he would get mad at another kid and walk off and pout, or he’d yell at the top of his lungs. Or he would constantly ask you if he could come play Playstation2 at your house that evening or if you’d take him swimming in the river. One time in the van, Dale somehow got on the topic of politics, and said “I think we should bomb the whole country of Iraq, just wipe them all out. And then bomb George W. Bush too. This country is going down and it’s his fault.” Like I said, you always knew Dale was around. But I loved this kid. I know when you work with kids, you aren’t supposed to pick favorites, but it’s inevitable. Dale was my favorite. This doesn’t mean there weren’t times when I wanted to strangle him or tell him to shut the hell up, but all that didn’t matter, because this kid had a heart of gold.

One morning, we took our group to a lake to walk and play some games in the park before lunch. We were walking around the trail, and the rest of the group was way ahead of me and Dale. All along the path that goes around the lake, there were these huge trees. I’m no expert on trees, so I couldn’t tell you what kind they were. But they were massive. I’m sure redwoods are much larger than I imagine, but these were redwoods to me. They were beautiful and stretched out over the lake, their branches hanging down as if their arms could sense the water below them, stretching their fingers down to drink. We were walking quietly, looking at these natural towers, when Dale made an observation that would put any Yale trained thinker to shame. He said, in the simple way only Dale could, “You know how God made trees to be trees?” I nodded. “Do you think God made me to be Dale?” This hit my heart like a pile of bricks. I replied, “You know Dale, I think that’s exactly what God did.” He took complete comfort in this, smiled big, and kept walking. Here was this fifteen-year-old developmentally disabled kid from an unstable home, who had to share a bedroom the size of a walk in closet with his brother, whose handwriting was that of a seven year old, who smelled bad and who was constantly picked on at school. A kid who, by societies standards, had nothing going for him at all, and yet he knew that God had made him special and had made him the way he was for a very good reason. I cannot think of a better way to describe the nature of our Creator than how Dale did that day. When you strip away society and all the voices telling you what is important or why you need this or need to get rid of that, and you listen to the voice of the One who created you, you will find that He created you uniquely and intentionally in His image.