Greg Lucas writes about taking his special-needs son, Jake, to his annual dentist appointment. After a particularly challenging visit, Jake was afraid to take the elevator, so the longsuffering nurse looked at him and asked, "Do you want us to help you take the stairs?" Lucas writes:

Jake was so overjoyed that he stopped every two or three steps and kissed the nurse right on the cheek—big, sloppy, drunken, bloody kisses. I apologized for the muddled morning this poor lady had to endure. She just smiled and didn't even wipe her face.

There were about 300 steps between the elevator and the exit doors two flights down. That translated into about one hundred kisses for the nurse, and probably fifty or so apologies from me. And, as usual, I was so caught up in my own pride, that I didn't see what God was actually accomplishing in the hospital this day.

Nearly 20 minutes later we reached the bottom of the stairway, exited the hospital, and Jake leaned back and gave the nurse one last kiss on the cheek. And I gave one final apology. And that's when it happened. The gentle, soft-spoken nurse looked me in the eyes and said, "Will you stop apologizing! I needed every one of those kisses today!"

I thanked her again, put Jake in the car, and we were on our way. Not until later did the words of the gentle nurse sink into my heart: Will you stop apologizing! I needed every one of those kisses today! Stop apologizing; people need your son! Stop worrying about the stares; people need to see the hard days of your life. On the most stressful day of the year, God makes your son an agent of grace, and your life is on display to a world that does not understand the strength of true weakness—a people that cannot comprehend bloodstained kisses or muddled love. But they need to understand.