Saint Nicholas of the Mall

It's always a pleasure when someone special comes and says hi and this young lady was no exception. I heard her exclaim "SANTA!" from midway down the mall and and the excitement and the vocal tone of someone with certain special needs was clear, through her exuberance, even from that distance.
She wore a heavy wig either to try to look pretty or perhaps she suffered some type of alepecia. Many complications often accompany birth defects where the most obvious result developmental disabilities. And then there are daily complications that sometimes stem from people responsible getting tired of making sure that the things people with normal function take for granted.
This sweet young lady had a problem and she wanted Santa's help with it.
Rarely do I cross over from a typical santa to a santa that reflects my opinion on things as I respect a parents right to teach their children how they would. I talk about sharing and other things that give a child the power to contribute to their society, but this young lady would be the rare exception.
She came for a visit, no one was paying for pictures...
She came and sat next to me and I offered to help her onto my lap (as is my custom) but she resisted.
She said "Santa I have to tell you something"
Now at this point I'm just thinking that this was her way of wanting to tell me about her wish list so my immediate answer was "Yes my dear?" expecting to hear the litany of toys that she had seen in magazines and on television when she blurted out,
"I  have sores in the rash under my boobs..."
...
...
...
So what would you do?
I crossed the line and prayed, I mean who better to pray for?
Her PCAs were sitting on a bench 50 feet away and appeared glad that their charge was distracted by someone else for a minute, so I quietly prayed, "Pain go", "Rash and sores heal", pain, go...
I said "okay, I'll let you get back to your shopping" and off she went.
Her PCA asked her what we talked about and she declared that she had told me about her rash.
I know this because I heard her PCA state matter of factly, in the way that someone who is tired of someone else' simple nonsense says it and a few moments later this sweet innocent came back and said, "I'm sorry for interupting, can I just ask..."
She didn't even come near me-
"Can I maybe just have a nice sweater?"
And off she went to go about her life and those folks who guide her life went on about theirs thinking little of that chance encounter, but I continue to pray for the sore in the rash under her boobs.
Later that evening I was in a discussion about how to deal in a certain situation and I shared that story. I have no idea what bearing it had, but somehow I needed to share it. I didn't understand it at the time and I don't understand it now, but there is something about sores and rashes and dark places and friction.
Sometimes an irritation produces a pearl and sometimes it produces a sore-
ours is to be wise enough to know which