Jesus is Magic
At 2:17 a.m., the quiet of our house shattered as Gideon jolted out of his restless sleep and threw up for the tenth time in eighteen long hours. I was already beside him, ready with a bucket, a soft wipe, and the calmest voice I could manage — the kind that says, I’ve got you, even when both of us are exhausted.
There are days when I hesitate to talk about the “extra.” The extra challenges, extra appointments, extra worry, and extra tenderness that come with raising a child who has a disability. I worry that if I speak honestly about the hard parts of loving someone with an extra chromosome, people — not personally, but collectively — will nod and decide that lives like his are optional. Because that mindset exists here in America, and it happens far more often than many realize.
Ableism is a cruel teacher. And even with all the cultural conversations about justice and equality, people with disabilities still aren’t fully embraced. Somehow, those who require more support are too often viewed as less valuable.
But I know the wonder of loving Gideon. I know the humor, the curiosity, the surprise, and the overwhelming joy that come with his presence. I don’t want a single mom, dad, sibling, or grandparent to miss the beautiful, overflowing love that arrives when you choose to take that leap of faith.
Gideon doesn’t get sick more often than most kids — but when illness hits, it hits hard. His mild sleep apnea, low muscle tone, and smaller nasal passages combine into a storm that requires constant vigilance and a lot of hand-holding. When he’s sick, I almost always sleep beside him, watching closely so he doesn’t aspirate or struggle in the night.
So last night, I held the bucket, wiped his face clean, and wrapped him in my arms when his little stomach had nothing left to give. And in the softest whisper, he looked at me and said, “Mom, I need Jesus.”
So we prayed — simply and honestly — asking Jesus to help him feel better.
Since he was now wide awake after the upheaval, we talked the way we often do, drifting between faith and dinosaurs and everything in between.
Gideon: “Is Jesus dead?”
Me: “He was — but now He’s alive.”
Gideon: “Where is He?”
Me: “He’s in heaven now.”
Gideon: “And that was 100 years ago?”
Me: “It was a long time ago.”
Gideon: “Like the dinosaurs?”
Me: “That was a long time ago, too.”
Gideon: “And the dinosaurs are dead like Jesus?”
Me: “Yes, the dinosaurs are extinct.”
Gideon: “Because of the asteroid.”
Me: “Yes.”
Gideon: “Is Jesus magic?”
Me: “I think He is.”
Gideon: “Are the dinosaurs magic too? Can they help me?”
Me: “No, dinosaurs don’t have magic.”
Gideon: “Not even a T‑Rex?”
Me: “Not even a T‑Rex.”
Gideon: “Mom, I need Jesus again.”
Me: “Okay, let’s pray again.”
Gideon: “Because Jesus is magic.”
And in that moment, curled up in the quiet, I realized something else. Yes — Jesus is magic. But so is this boy. So is his way of seeing the world, trusting deeply, and loving fully.
And so are you, my dear child. So are you.
