A recent message from one mom to another posted on Facebook stands out to us as a message suitable to the season.

The mom wanted the other mom to know what her daughter’s simple acts of kindness meant to her son, a high-functioning autistic child who has a speech impediment. The boy, a junior, had a class with the daughter – Bridgette – during the recently-ended fall semester at Columbus High School. Each day, he came home telling his mom about a joke Bridgette had told him, a conversation they had or how she had made sure he was OK if he was feeling overstimulated.

“He said this morning that he ‘sure is going to miss (being) in a class with her’ now that the first semester is over,” she wrote on Facebook.

The story sounds familiar to us, somehow.

During the Christmas season, we are inclined toward kindness and our hearts are warmed by the examples we encounter along the way. The best-loved Christmas stories share the common theme of kindness.

There is no better example of this than Charles Dickens’ “A Christmas Carol.”

Among the memorable characters – Ebenezer Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, the ghosts of Christmas Present, Past and Future – is one whose presence is the most powerful – and sometimes misunderstood – example of disability: Tiny Tim.

We aren’t told the nature of his disability, but we know its symptoms. He is a weak, undersized, sallow-eyed child who needs a crutch to walk. He tires easily. He seems to be fading away.

In the character of Tiny Tim, we see Dickens’ true genius at work, an idea that must have been revolutionary for his time – one that still needs to be heard in ours.

In the author’s eyes, Tim isn’t “broken.” He isn’t a burden. He is not a plot device intended to shame people into charity.

On the contrary, Tim is joyful. He is wise. He is loved. He is hopeful.

His life has value not because he “inspires” others, but simply because he exists.

He is far more than cheap, predictable sentimentality.

Of all the characters Scrooge encounters, Tiny Tim becomes an emotional turning point for Scrooge. Not because Tim is helpless or tragic, but because a transformed Scrooge finally sees him—really sees him—as a person with dignity and worth.

Scrooge’s transformation isn’t just about generosity. It’s about awakening to the sacredness of all human life.

Because the world still struggles to see people with disabilities the way Dickens saw Tiny Tim, we often default to two extremes: pity and inspiration.

But Tim does not exist to improve the character of others. He exists because he has value beyond his limitations. His disability is a trait, not an identity.

Living with a disability can be lonely. Those with disabilities are not so much mistreated as ignored. They become invisible. They starve for connection, for understanding. They yearn to be accepted to have a place where they belong, to feel fully human.

Near the end of the story, Bob Cratchit ends a toast with the words, “Merry Christmas to us all. God bless us.”

Tiny Tim’s response might seem to simply repeat his father’s words when he says, “God bless us, every one.”

It is a blessing intended for the forgotten and neglected of our society, those we hold at arm’s length as objects of pity.

In a world where many people with disabilities are still excluded, overlooked, or underrepresented, Tiny Tim’s voice echoes across time.

A Columbus High School girl named Bridgette hears it and responds with grace and kindness.

The mom closes her message to Bridgette’s mom, writing, “As parents we need to hear of the greatness our babies do outside our presence. Thank you, truly.”

And may we add, “God bless us, every one.”

The Dispatch Editorial Board is made up of publisher Peter Imes, columnist Slim Smith, managing editor Zack Plair and senior newsroom staff.

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