When I was still in the States, my predominant thought on the prospect of working with deafblind children went something like this: “Won’t it be great to love on these kids, to show them the affection that they constantly long for, to touch them and hold them and see them smile in response?”
But those thoughts were misguided: I took for granted the desire of deafblind children to be touched.
Think about it. What would happen if a child was permanently isolated from sight and sound and largely isolated from people? What would happen if her exclusive experience of touch was a firm grip on the wrist and a cold tug in an unknown direction? What would happen if she was hit, even just once, without any warning and without ever understanding why? What would happen if she was hit often?
What happens?
The child turns inward.
And understandably so. It is safer.
But we know that it is also less rewarding, less fulfilling, less like life as God intends it to be. So, how do we help these beloved children of God turn outward again, open up to the world, receive real love?
I don’t have much to say. The process is long and painstaking, I know that. So much damage has already been done.
At the end of the day, it’s about establishing trust and, slowly but surely, forming a relationship. Without trust there is no relationship, and without a relationship there is no growth.
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