Being Frank

Frank stepped off the white, dust covered activity bus and onto the pavement warmed by the first days of spring. He turned his head slightly on an angle as he took in his surroundings, his almond shaped eyes gazing at the rich greens and browns of the camp’s landscape. He is visiting an environmental education camp with his motley crew of deaf, blind, and mentally handicapped friends from Charlotte Metro School.
The counselors stood on the dark green basketball court dawning smiles and warm hellos. Frank stood in front of the line of young men and women and measured their caliber by looking at each one’s attire. His eyes set upon a young man wearing cargo pants and a bright yellow t-shirt. In an instant Frank took his awkward steps with an outstretched arm toward the counselor and placed his clumsy fingers into the counselor’s hand.
Frank’s counselor did not have much, if any, experience working with special children. In fact, sadly enough, this counselor had used children like Frank as a source for amusement, the butt of cruel jokes. A wave of anxiety soaked him when Frank held onto his hand with a bear like grip.
The students began their field trip by learning the exterior anatomy of a fish. When a counselor would draw the fins and tail on a chalkboard, Frank would shout out, “SHARK!” His counselor broke into a cold sweat as his eyes met the room’s silent glare. The lesson continued and Frank became emphatic: “SHARK!” “No Frank, that is a F-I-S-H,” his counselor said, his best attempt to be patient. “SHARK! SHARK! SHARK!” His counselor’s hand became clammy as Frank’s grip tightened slightly.
The class moved quickly into fishing in the lake with bamboo poles. The afternoon sun beat down and Frank’s hair began to clump with sweat and his round cheeks turned red from activity. When it became obvious the fish were not biting he became engrossed in the Styrofoam cup of earthworms. “SPAGHETTI!” Frank’s counselor squirmed in his seat even more than the worms. “SPAGHETTI”, Frank laughed. He picked one up in his stubby fingers and dangled it in front of his counselor. “YUMMY!” His other hand covered his mouth slightly as he giggled and squealed. His counselor saw where this was headed and feared what would happen if he didn’t comply. He reached down into Frank’s hand, grabbed the dirt covered worm, glanced at those almond shaped eyes bursting with excitement and placed the worm into his mouth. A high shriek pierced the area as Frank pointed his classmates toward the sight of the worm tail swirling around the outside of his counselor’s mouth. One after another the worms went down, each with an abundant applause from the Metro School crowd. Frank’s hands would clap with amusement, but only momentarily before returning his hold into the counselor’s hand.
At the evening dance party the students broke out all of their best moves. Frank found his way into the costume closet and retrieved a blond wig. He galloped around the dance floor and waved his arms in spastic gyrations. But he suddenly stopped and glanced around as if something was missing. He leaped toward his counselor, who was standing on the side, and dragged him into the music. After only a moment of hesitation, his counselor began flailing about, following Frank’s lead. On his way back to the cabin, Frank never took his gaze off of the night sky filled with stars that shone brighter than in the city, all the while holding his counselor’s hand.
The morning came for Frank and the other students to leave. As they formed a single file line to board the bus, Frank smiled into his counselor’s face displaying his entire set of perfectly spaced teeth. He focused his attention to release his counselor’s hand. This time it was Frank’s counselor’s hand that tightened faintly. As the grungy bus pulled out of sight Frank placed his hand on the window facing his counselor.


God places strangers in our lives to show us His face is everywhere, to demonstrate that what we do unto others we are doing unto Him. It may seem trivial at times, but there are no coincidences: the people who cut us off on the road; the disgruntled employee who seems to take his or her bad day out us; the customer with a cart full of items in the Express Lane; those that differ from us in many ways. We have an even greater responsibility as Christians to reflect the Light that engulfed our sins.

Ten years ago Frank held my hand and helped lead me to Christ. I can still feel him squeeze whenever I am faced with a challenging or uncomfortable situation.