O Lord, Our Lord, your greatness is seen in all the world! Your praise reaches up to the heavens. It is sung by children and babies (Psalm 8).

The "child" whose cheerful invocations awaken me is 24 years old; his name is Ian. We were told by the "experts" that he wouldn’t live much past the age of two. But God is Love, and he is not bound by constantly changing human sciences.

The ravages of a brain tumor, followed by a stroke, numerous surgeries, and multiple other medical problems, all in his first year of life, have given us an eternal child. Cognitively, he is about six-to-twelve months old.

Unable to crawl, walk, or eat, he is legally blind, tube fed, and dependant on all those around him to meet his every need. He is unable to speak except in a language all his own—a language of perpetual happiness.

Oh sure, there are times when he complains. A plaintive whine will catch our ears and we’ll have to go and interpret its meaning. He could be saying "roll me over" or "change my diaper," "sit me in my rocker" or "come and snuggle with me."

Sometimes at Mass, if the priest’s homily goes on too long, Ian’s high-pitched whine emanates from the pew where he is lying on the mat as if to say, "C’mon, Father, hurry it up. There are Hosannas to be sung. Let the Offertory begin!"

His needs are few; yet he has become the central figure in our home, someone around whom all our schedules revolve.

Very early on, we were told to institutionalize him. We were told that we shouldn’t have to live our lives around his "condition." The modern world sees people like Ian as burdens. It often silences those lives it finds inconvenient through abortion and even euthanasia.

But God has a purpose for all his children. Ian is doing God’s will. He has taught us service, humility, and availability—24 hours a day. His younger brother and sister have grown up having to participate in his care by changing him, hooking up his tube feedings, and just learning the patience of listening to him and being available to him.

But perhaps the greatest gift Ian brings, other than the constant laughter and musical intonations that fill our home, is the certain knowledge the he is a living icon of Christ.

I assure you that unless you change and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. The greatest in the kingdom of heaven is the one who humbles himself and becomes like this child. And whoever welcomes in my name one such child as this, welcomes me (Mt 18).

There is no doubt in my mind that every sound that springs from him is a prayer, an alleluia, an offering of praise from someone completely blameless, someone filled with love, and if God is Love, filled with God.

Over the years I have tried to give voice to Ian—to explain him to others. Now I realize that all along he has been the one giving voice to all of us. With every utterance, he fills our house with prayer triumphantly shouted to the highest reaches by the most hidden of voices. Such an incomparable gift! God is gracious.

One might think it ironic that the very name, Ian, means "God is gracious." But irony only resides in our minds if we are incapable of grasping the constant outpouring of gifts from the Father to his children.

The author is the brother of staff worker, Chuck Sharp.