I did not grow up in religious or faith spaces. I did not have the language of Scripture or the comfort of church when I was young so it wasn’t something that molded me, and much of my childhood was shaped by trauma rather than safety. Because of that, I learned early how words, especially words spoken with authority or certainty, can settle deep inside a child. They don’t stay as phrases. They become beliefs. They quietly shape how a child understands love, worth, and belonging.

In my early adult years, as faith became one of the most meaningful parts of my life, and as I began working closely with children in my community, especially children with disabilities, medical complexities, and neurodivergent minds, I began to notice something that troubled me. Even when spoken from a place of care, certain language can unintentionally place a heavy burden on children and their families. When healing is framed as a reward for belief, or struggle is linked to a lack of faith, children can grow into adults who quietly carry the belief that they are not believing enough, praying hard enough, or loved enough by God. This causes fracturing in hearts and minds as well as the church.

For children whose disabilities are visible, this can feel isolating. For children whose disabilities are invisible, those navigating sensory overload, anxiety, trauma responses, or neurodivergence, the weight can also be heavy. When their experiences are misunderstood or minimized, they may learn to hide parts of themselves in order to appear faithful, compliant, or “whole.” Over time, that hiding becomes harmful. It can fracture a child’s sense of self and distort their understanding of God. I do not believe this is the heart of Jesus.

I don’t claim to be a theologian or believe I know everything, but my understanding is again and again, Jesus seems to resist simple explanations for suffering. When asked to assign blame, He chose instead to reveal God’s nearness. Faith, as He lived it, was never a formula for outcomes. Healing was never a measurement of worth. Suffering, mental, physical, emotional, or neurological, was never evidence that someone was less loved by God.

I believe in miracles. I pray boldly for healing, for bodies, minds, and hearts. I believe God can and does restore in ways we cannot always predict or explain. I also believe God is profoundly present in the waiting, in the unanswered prayers, and in the daily faithfulness of families raising children whose paths look different than expected or hoped for.

The children in our community, those with physical disabilities and those with neurodivergent minds, are not problems we should try and solve. They are fearfully and wonderfully made, bearing the image of God in ways that challenge our definitions of strength, productivity, and success. God’s power is not diminished by a diagnosis and it is not proven by dogma. His love is not measured by outcomes we can see. He Loves.

Most of the friends I have met on my journey need compassion not correction. Companionship not analysis. They need language that reminds them they are already held rather than language that makes them feel as though they need to perform faith. When we choose our words with care and humility, we help create a faith that is spacious enough for healing and honest enough for truth. That kind of faith does not harm, it heals.

I am a person who believes in Jesus. I have not been fully healed but I believe God is using me and my life for a great purpose and I am grateful to be who I am. I am here. Neurodivergent and in awe of his Grace and Love. I am not Hopeless. I am Hopeful. I want you to experience His Kindness and Mercy. I can’t promise complete healing but I can promise you will never have to worry about being yourself around me. 🤟🏼