At times I’m asked to talk to a new parent about what it’s like to raise a child like you; a child with Down Syndrome. After all these years, I’m still not quite sure what to say.

It’s frightening. Exhausting. Frustrating.

It’s exhilarating. Thrilling. Joy-filled.

You rejoice over getting last place. Over peanut butter. Over new socks. Every activity is encompassed by hugs at the start and hugs and the end, with a few extra hugs thrown in for good measure. You complain loudly about getting a Band-Aid and say “thank you” in the next breath.

You live your emotions for all to see, untempered by what may or may not be appropriate. You have conversations with your fingers and with invisible friends in the car’s back seat. After all these years, we’ve stopped trying to suppress the things that make people stare, and are trying to let you be your unadulterated, exuberant self.

Somehow, in the midst of annoying your siblings to no end, you have built in them a fierce devotion to your happiness.

You have opened doors for us, even as we opened doors for you. You have also closed a few, ones we always thought we’d walk through someday; your needs form our plans and our days.

What should I tell them, these new parents, eyes brimming in shock and fear? What should I tell them, as they face down doctors and evaluations and crushed expectations?

I’ll tell them it’s hard. Very hard, sometimes. But hard is different than bad. Lots of good things are birthed from hard. Babies, for one. Learning. Character. Miracles, even. Hard begets courage. It bestows purpose. And yes, sometimes there is bad as well.

For all the therapies and interventions designed to help you gain life skills, it is we who have been formed far more than you. We are the ones who are profoundly better for having you in our lives.

So I will tell those new parents that this challenge they face isn’t necessarily bad. It’s just hard. And many days, the goodness of this hard thing will overwhelm them with gratitude and joy.

And the bad, when it comes, will be met with the courage gained from the hard.

I will also welcome them into the fellowship of those who know the exquisite wonder of witnessing the glory of God displayed in the lives of the weak, and the achingly sweet beauty that comes of welcoming the least and the last among us.

Yes, that’s what I’ll tell them: to expect the hard and the good, and sometimes even the bad, in this adventure they’re called to. To embrace the grief and sorrow wrapped up in the miracle of it all. To expect wonder and grace and heart-stopping joy.

And also, to brace themselves for lots and lots of hugs.