There are some characters an author creates. The come on the page like a piece of cardboard, and we mold them into the high-definition characters we want them to be.
And then there are a few characters who enter the scene with all their bits and pieces already together. They’re not molded, shaped, or forced into complying with the story line. Instead, they quietly, and yet dramatically, take the author by the hand and challenge them, grow them, and show them what story is all about.
Jacob is one of those.
I thought I was writing his story, but somewhere along the way, he quietly began editing mine.
One of my favorite pieces of The Amish Widower’s Dilemma comes between an interaction between Lydia and Noah.
“What you’ve done, in the short time with him,” Noah said. “I’m impressed.”
“Denki,” she said, folding her hands together.
“He won’t remember tomorrow.”
“You don’t know that,” she said, releasing her fingers and pulling her shoulders back, ready to defend Jacob’s intelligence. “He’s smart.”
“He’s…Jacob.”
She wondered what he really meant to say, what he thought of his son. “He’s a child with limited abilities, but he’s still capable. You have to give him a chance.”
His jaw clenched and anger rose high in his cheeks. He took a few breaths. “I’m with him every day, Lydia. I know my sohn. I know his limitations.”
She shook her head. “No. You only know Jacob through the lens of your own limitations and perceptions.”
He flinched. “You hold nothing back, do you?”
“Not when it comes to children—especially not when it comes to children like Jacob.”
Sweet, little, Jacob,
I’m not sure I even know where to begin. My time with you will take me years to process, but I can’t let you go out into the world without thanking you.
Thank you for letting me sit and be happy with you a while.
Thank you for letting me into your beautiful world.
Thank you for the smiles. The laughter. The tears.
Thank you for reminding me there is much more to the day-to-day than the hustle and bustle.
Thank you for challenging me.
Thank you for growing me.
Thank you for allowing me to share your story.
Thank you for teaching me that communication isn’t always spoken.
Thank you for reminding me to slow down long enough to see the world through your eyes.
And mostly, Jacob, thank you for being you.
Now, go, young man, out into this big, big world, and do what you do best…. share kindness without judgement. Love without conditions. And never stop sharing your smile.
I couldn’t write this without tears in my eyes.
Jacob isn’t one child.
He’s bits and pieces of dozens of children who trusted me with their world over the years.
And he’s a lot of our Jeremy—the young man whose smile still reminds me that joy doesn’t have to be complicated.
I hope Jacob has as big an impact on you as he did on me.
Who is a child who changed your life, simply by being themselves?
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