You came home from work today, excited to tell me who was there and what you did. You dropped your backpack by the front door and gave me a long hug before washing your hands to eat and change for basketball practice. You are one of the 10%.
60% to 90%* of your peers are terminated in utero because we value the beautiful and strong over the weak and needy. Because we are afraid that you will curtail our freedom; that you will require more from us than we want to give. Because the medical profession tells us to, when we are vulnerable and afraid. They say that your life will be one of unrelenting suffering, and there is only one right solution for it.
They say you and your peers are a drain on society. That economic resources are wasted on you, while taking away from others who can enhance our bottom line.
What does that say about us as a society? We, with the requisite number of chromosomes, determine your fate before we even meet you, before we experience one of your open-hearted hugs or witness your exuberant spirit. How far have we fallen, that we will only welcome you if your test results declare you worthy of our care?
I try to imagine a world where the missing 90% are here, in our homes and our schools, in our churches and work places. How would that change us? Would we become a more compassionate society? A less angry, more joyful one?
Medical advancements have allowed you to survive and thrive, while at the same time working hard to ensure that you won’t be here to experience it. And we accept this twisted reasoning because it would cost us something to question it.
And yet, here you are, fixing yourself lunch in my kitchen—one of the 10% allowed to make your mark on this broken world. You don’t understand what a privilege it is for you to even exist, as you put the peanut butter away and stoop to hug the dog. But I do. Oh, yes, my son, I do.
*https://obgyn.onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/full/10.1002/pd.2910
A View of the Lake 
Wow. Powerful and true words. Thank you for sharing them. Years ago, I worked with young adults with Down’s syndrome. My job was to find employment for them, train them in their job and provide follow up as needed. The love, joy and innocence, the freedom they lived in, was something that has affected me all these years. It opened my eyes to how special they are ❤️
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This expresses exactly how I feel about my 32-year old son. My Daniel is kind, generous and hard-working. We are blessed to be part of a church that welcomes and loves him; where he greets everyone with joy as he hands out bulletins. My life is richer, deeper, fuller, and sometimes harder. But, oh, he is worth it!
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Beautiful, whi
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Thank you for this. As the mother of an adult daughter with Williams Syndrome (also a chromosomal defect) I feel you! God has used her to re-shape my heart. May God bless you and your family ❤️
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Thank you, Cheryl. We get front-row seats to how God uses the “weak” things of this world, don’t we? (1 Cor. 1:27)
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I’m sitting here watching my 2 month old son with down syndrome sleep peacefully with tears in my eyes. I am so excited for what God has in store for him but so scared of how the world will be when he is grown.
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The world will be all the more in need of his light, and you will be blessed in watching it shine. (John 9:3)
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Thank you for sharing. This attitude through trials helps us to appreciate what tender gifts of blessings HE gives us when we most need them. Praying for continued strength and comfort for you.
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