A Gift in Disguise

I've been turned down for jobs in the past, because I have a child with severe needs, now a teenager. People mean it kindly, they say, "Oh, you can't work, you have Joe." I smile and walk away, seething inside. Of course I have Joe, and he likes to eat, just like any other child.
For almost fourteen years I have carried this burden, seeing the painted-on smiles of people who look at me and my son as if we were both low-functioning non-people. The smile is too bright, the eyes pass somewhere over our heads as they nod and move on. Some stop and say, "oh, I just love children like your son, they're so adorable." Others, more well-intentioned say, "I don't know how you do it," implying I have extraordinary abilities. What they're really saying is "-but I'm glad it's you and not me."
I ended up having to patch together childcare on a day-to-day basis, using three of Joe's siblings as a sort of tag-team. For several years I worked in a city an hour away, where no one knew my younger son. I missed most of my childrens' growing-up during those years.
Finally, I started teaching in a school district half an hour away from my house, still juggling childcare responsibilities with the other children, because no one wanted to watch Joe. Substitute teaching in a nearby district meant I was pretty much on Joe's schedule.
A kind neighbor started watching him for half an hour in the mornings, so I could get to work. I taught at the high school so I could be home in time for Joe.
There was no question of working in the school district where I lived; I had spent too many years advocating for my son to receive a Free and Appropriate Education according to the Commissioner's Regulations for the State of New York.
My son is a wonderful, handsome young man who likes to hang around with regular boys and girls. He can't talk to them; he just likes being there. He loves music and french fries with ketchup, and water slides and any place that has lots of boys and girls around. Joe likes it when his friends read him stories or play ball with him. Most of all, he loves it when they talk to him, as if he could talk back.
He just likes being treated like a person.
Recently, I applied for a job with a community action group, in another town, of course. They reviewed my credentials and said everything was fine, but "this job involves working with parents of children with special needs. In order for them to feel you're not looking down on them, we can only hire someone who has a child with special needs."
I just smiled, and pulled out Joe's picture.
The so-called burden had become a gift.
A friend likened my situation to that of Hagar, in Genesis 21, where she has fled with her son Ishmael into the desert.
After wandering God knows how long, Hagar finally lets go of her burden, her son. When she does, a well of fresh water appears, and she and Ishmael are saved. "God was with the child as he grew up."
Another story about letting go, and trusting God.