The man watched the children playing at the playground. Kids swinging, running around, laughing. They all looked so happy. He smiled. But then he felt something. He turned around. There was a little boy. Standing behind the swings, watching the kids. The man slowly approached him and knelt down, but the boy didn’t see him. The man was unseen by everyone there.

The man peered into the little boy’s eyes. The boy was short. He had glasses. Big brown eyes. Slightly crazy brown hair. A round tummy and small hands. Black pants and a blue t-shirt with a baseball on it. Rainbow tie-dyed Crocs and white socks. The boy had to have been six or so. Most passerby didn’t notice him standing there, but the man did. The man knew the boy.

The little boy—Luke, was his name—watched as the kids played. Talking to himself in his own imaginary world, the boy sat down and crossed his legs. The man sat down beside the boy.

The man knew the boy. He knew his stories, knew his imaginary friends, knew his secrets and hurt. When he looked into the boy’s eyes, he saw what only he could see.

A preemie baby in a hospital bed with tubes and cords blanketing him. Multiple machines making loud sounds. Beep beep. Beep beep. Beep beep. The baby’s cheeks are puffy and round from the medication that the nurses give him. He’s about one year old, but he’s behind. Behind on what? Everything. Behind physically, mentally. He would never be like the other kids.

The man saw another scene.

Outside, a boy sitting on a blanket with his sister who is at least ten. She’s got a ponytail and is wearing a pink shirt and polka dot skirt. She’s holding up the boy, who is probably two, but does not look two. He’s got multiple large medical machines surrounding him. He has a trach, a tube in his throat to help him breathe. The little girl is unfazed by this abnormality. That’s her brother. It’s normal to her. But not to the other kids.

The man observed yet another scene and watched silently.

A little boy, the same boy the man is crouched by, is in an elementary school cafeteria. In line for lunch. There’s a bigger boy behind him, but Luke is oblivious. He’s in his own world, talking to his imaginary friends. The friends that nobody else can see, but the man watching knows them. The bigger boy argues with the little kid, but Luke doesn’t hear him. Agitated, the big boy rears back his leg and kicks little Luke in the stomach. Whimpering, Luke makes his way to a table where the school nurse comes to give him food through the feeding tube in his stomach. His stomach, where the boy kicked him.

The man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. The boy didn’t flinch or turn around. He didn’t feel the man’s hand. “I’m sorry.” The boy watched the kids running around.

The man looked around at the children and stood up, his tall figure towering over the boy. “My Father, thank you that the kingdom of heaven belongs to children like him.” He knelt and placed his hands on the boy again. He cupped the boy’s cheeks and whispered, “My child, take heart. For I have overcome the world.” He stood up and walked away, disappearing. But you can bet that he was still watching over the boy.