Flutter.

The classrooms were brightly-coloured, filled with murals of cartoon animals. And ever so often, the morning silence would be pierced by cries, loud banging or the sound of hard knocks. A child may wave frantically, knock against a chair-leg rhythmically, or twist his head spastically to one side. “This is how some of them register your presence,” we were told.

As part of our orthopedic module, we were taken to the Spastic Children’s Association of Singapore on a day trip to learn more about children suffering from cerebral palsy- a non-progressive disorder caused by damage to the young brain, commonly during pregnancy. As a result, children may suffer from spasticity, unsteady gait, decreased muscle mass, fits, speech disorders, eating problems, sensory impairments, mental disabilities or behavorial disorders.

Because of their muscular deformities, many children used walkers, walking sticks or special shoes to move around. And even then, most of them walked with a clumsy, scissored tiptoed gait. While some had normal intellectual development, it was apparent that many struggled with normal day-to-day conversation.

After a teaching session on the role medical doctors and surgery could play in the lives of these children, the staff took us on a guided tour through the school, during which I witnessed the many teachers and helpers in the lives of these children.

We were in a classroom, and the children, in their wheelchairs, stuggled to say hello to us. Some could and waved, while others could not. The teacher spoke of them as angels. “This is Faith,” she said. “She’s amazing, she’s made so much progress. Just a few months back, she wouldn’t even stand the sight of strangers and couldn’t even walk properly. Now, you should see her when she swims! She’s like a dolphin, you know. Like a dolphin, twirling and dancing in the water! She’s so special, you know… … And hey, don’t think my kids don’t throw tantrums- they do, just like normal kids do! “

At that moment, all I could see was a child, ridden with spasticity from the waist down, sitting in a wheelchair and plaqued with mental dullness from the neck up, but the teacher saw so much more. She saw Faith for who she was, seeing what mortal eyes could not see.

Day after day, these special angels laboured and worked in this special institution seeing the good, the possibilities and potential that lay hidden in these children. In a chillingly pragmatic society as ours, where one’s merit and utility counts for everything, and which is even considering the conveniently mercenary option of euthanasia, I shudder to think of the place these special children have in our hearts.

And I became ashamed, because I wondered if I could do the same, too. Day in day out, caring for these children, carrying them around (many of them can’t even sit up and need assistance moving from a bed to a chair), listening to broken tunes sung by them, engaging in simple, simple conversation. In the grandeur of a hospital in the eyes of the public, it’s easy to play the role of the smart, compassionate, altruistic doctor, who gives all the orders, shakes everybody’s hands and claims all the credit. But as I watched the fierce dedication and quiet spirit of the teachers and helpers in the school, I felt humbled, immediately.

So this how the flutter of angels’ wings sound like.

Quiet.

Hush.

At once, I remembered nurses, parents, maids, cleaners, teachers, caregivers… … who give up their lives for that of another- whose primary joy come from giving God’s love to meet the needs of another, quietly, humbly, without recognition. And for some reason, I grew red in embarassment, as I thought of the past fund-raising events I had taken part in, which were publicised with trumpets and flyers and loud noise. My face stung as I considered how I had publicised Kitesong 2 years back. Nothing wrong with that, except perhaps, that it was without a gentle, quiet, humble spirit. Somewhere back there, was pride, self-centredness, still. And it sickens me to think of it now- that God wasn’t fully centre-stage.

For once, I want to be the audience, not the actor of the script; the sunshine, and not the sun; and a point melting into an arc, and not the dot at the centre of the circle. For only God’s love is beautiful, big, humble, quiet enough for that place, in the centre of it all.

Hush.

What do you hear?