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  • When you see that kind of sickness every day, when it becomes more than once a year when someone you know is stricken with something awful that leaves you questioning whether or not you believe in God, it doesn’t make you numb to the world. You do not become void of sharing in the pain that you see every day. It is absorbed. It is taken in and felt and seen from the outside with perspective from which there’s a unique sort of unbearable.

    It makes you more aware, more feeling, more alive than you would ever have felt living life thinking that God strikes people ill or dead so that the healthy can learn from them.

    And that in it itself is a regretful thought. To know that in effect, no matter which way it’s spun, you actually are learning some of the greatest things in life from another person’s disease or disorder or death. But day by day, the more time you spend with individuals and not the disease, you realize:

    That little boy whom you would pity in a picture is actually one of the most apathetic students in the classroom; the pre-teen girl with the 10 inch scar down the center of her chest is also one of your most difficult special education students; and the 7 year old whose brother’s genetic disorder is known throughout the medical profession as “a beautiful mystery” does not herself accept his more sociable and genuinely caring nature.

    You realize very quickly that you are not learning from a disease. You are learning from a child. And you are learning from a child as you would learn from any other.

    There is a certain humanistic outlook on life that envelops one who cares for others.
    In the absence of dignity, strength does not falter. In the absence of words and answers, an understanding is felt: you are not a sacrifice. You are a child of God.
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