Berries

Now the Lord God had planted a garden in the east, in Eden...

Genesis 2:8a (NIV)

Stepped out the front door

Today and found a surprise

Berries by the stairs

Oh! the summer memories

fingers darting through glossy

Leaves like hummingbirds

Pop one in my mouth

Toss another in the pail

Sweet cluster bubbles

I think the Garden

of Eden must have had these

Perhaps without thorns

Linking with Sunday Stillness

Dream

Hope deferred makes the heart sick,

but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.

Proverbs 13:12

Ok, so I'm cheating just a little bit. The prompt today is Dream; we're supposed to write for five minutes and then stop. My problem is, I've thought about this prompt before, in life. I don't think I'm wrong to suppose that we've all had dreams, dreams that change, dreams that are forgotten in years of living, years of making the best of, years of other priorities. We've been told to follow our dreams, to reach for our dreams, to dream big and to dream on. We've been told what we should dream, what we could dream, and how to interpret our dreams. We've wanted our dreams to come true, like fairytale wishes. All of us. Dreaming about so many things. And for many, our dreams grow and mature - they encompass more than just ourselves. They include our family, our children and spouses. They include our country. They include our world.

So this is the cheat. I've written for almost five minutes, but I also want to share. My daughter just turned 24 a month ago. I still remember how her birth and diagnosis of Down syndrome rocked my perfect world, how my hopes and dreams for my child were changed, shifted, blown away. Hope deferred... But I didn't remain heartsick - God had different plans. Following is an excerpt from a book-in-the-making about my daughter. Well, really about how raising Sierra has changed my life. The Very-Do Adventure is a description of the journey - 

The road goes ever on and on down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet, until it joins some larger way,

Where many paths and errands meet. And wither then I cannot say.

J.R.R. Tolkien

I am in the office, thinking about the past 23 years. Sierra is in the other room, exercising.  I hear the music and I picture her, eyes focused on the video following the steps of an on-screen avatar. That birthday of hers is almost here and I am remembering doctor visits, therapies, early intervention, Individualized Education Plans. I reflect on decisions made, on scaffolding, on choices. There are differences between parenting a child with extra needs and a typically developing child, but the similarities outweigh those differences. Great strides have been made in quality of life, education, health, and acceptance of our differently-abled population. 

Almost twenty-three years on this very-do adventure.

I am in the office, thinking about my wishes and hopes for my girl, for the people around her, for parents and families who are new to the parenting adventure, parents and families with typical and extraordinary journeys ahead. I think big thoughts that float and glitter like giant, helium-filled mylar balloons on parade. Balloons that proclaim Universal Hopes and Dreams. I think beyond Down syndrome.

I hope that my daughter will be safe from any who want to take advantage of her. I hope she continues to search for and find purpose. I hope that others, parents, families and communities learn as much from their sons or daughters, as I have from mine. I wish them joy in the journey. 

I wish that being 'special' wasn't an automatic label based on a diagnosis. My daughter has EARNED the description of special based on her unique personality, her unique outlook, her unique actions.

I wish there weren’t disappointments in the disability, but rather celebrations in the ability. I wish, like Chris Burke, it could be called Up Syndrome.

I hope that people take time and effort to get to know my girl. I hope they take time and effort to get past the challenges of understanding her speech, past her conversation loops, her need to please, her drama moments. I hope they discover her sense of humor, her empathy, her distinctive intelligence, spirituality and joy. I hope they appreciate the journey.

I hope she experiences true, unconditional friendship. I hope she experiences Relationship (with a capital ‘R’).  Active, vibrant, caring relationship. Beyond family. 

 ~~~~~

"It is my birthday, next week. Are you scared?” 

Done exercising and back to her favorite topic, my daughter interrupts my thoughts.

“No, Sweetie, not scared,” I fold her Zumba’d body in my arms. I blink back warm tears of hope and love, turn away from the computer and focus on my soon-to-be birthday girl. “I am incredibly blessed.” 

Linking with Five-Minute Friday

Finding the Joy

A note about the picture:

Sometimes, what I catch through the lens becomes an entirely different picture after I take it home to my computer. I crop. Sometimes I crop away. Sometimes I crop toward. Either way, the final picture is the result of a hunt for the best composition. I think, a lot of times, we find joy by looking for the best composition in our circumstances. We can frame it and crop toward it, or we can frame it and crop the extraneous distractions away.

Finally, brothers and sisters, 

whatever is true, 

whatever is noble, 

whatever is right, 

whatever is pure, 

whatever is lovely, 

whatever is admirable—

if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—

think about such things. 

Philippians 4:8 (NIV)

"Tomorrow, I eat my breakfast slowly."

The refrigerator door is open, my eyes focused on the makings of my own breakfast. I only half hear her. Some people need coffee to wake up; I need food in my tummy to take myself off of autopilot. But something about this sentence stalls me out, stops my hunt for the cream cheese container, and has me look at her.

Autopilot means I haven't noticed that my daughter is standing at the counter eating her banana, instead of sitting at the table. Autopilot means I haven't noticed the 'work' bag on the counter next to her, flaps open, purse inside. Autopilot means I haven't noticed she has already changed out of her exercise clothes and into an 'outfit', ready to return to her volunteer position at the Army Community Services center on post.

I know she's excited. We've spent the last three weeks as a family, my husband on leave, boating, fishing, enjoying the crisp weather and blue skies. She has started telling me it is time to go back to work. She has started telling me she will see her friends. She has started telling me she is hard work (yes, exactly in that way...) But what stops my pre-breakfast autopilot is the -ly in the word slowly.

Yes, it's a really little thing. Two letters, to be exact. At the end of a 6-word sentence. But for me, it is huge.

See, my daughter has Down syndrome. Those little morphemes, those little one-, two-, and three-letter word attachments, those little bits of meaning, have been agonizingly slow to show up in her vocabulary. Sierra, my daughter, is very concrete. Very in the here and now. Very visual. So it's not surprising to understand why this part of her language skill lags. Those bits of meaning add abstract information. The -ed shows past tense. The -er shows someone who. The -s shows plural, or possession. For most of us, these little bits get added way back in our toddler and primary years. For Sierra, it's an ongoing process.

And now the -ly. It tells how.

So, I'm standing in the kitchen with my mouth open, just like the refrigerator door. And I'm celebrating my daughter's language. She just turned 24 - and the language keeps coming. Nice, right?

Jennifer Dukes Lee found a barn painted with a sign "Praise God." She interviewed the veterinarian who had the sign done.

He said the two words, “Praise God,” seemed like the best ones to hang over a farm … and over a whole life.

You can read the rest of her post here. It's worth the read.

Today, I'm joining the #TellHisStory Community, and ThreeWordWednesday with a simple praise of my own. I praise God for steadfastly walking beside my daughter and me, in all things, even something as little as an 'ly.

The Strongest Thing

This post is a continuation, in a way, of A Fragile Thing.

For I am convinced 

that neither death 

nor life, 

neither angels 

nor demons, 

neither the present 

nor the future, 

nor any powers, 

neither height 

nor depth, 

nor anything else in all creation, 

will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Romans 8:38-39 (NIV)

Imagine this:

A young man walks into a church during bible study on a weekday morning. He sits in the church for an hour, listening. Impressed by the kindness he is shown, he almost doesn't do what he came to do. But a voice whispers to him. A voice in the recesses of his soul. A familiar voice. A voice of darkness. "Do it."

And he does. He opens fire on the very people he has been sitting with, killing eight with multiple gunshots. A ninth dies at the hospital. He tells them they have to die. That voice has taken over his life.

Days later, the survivors gather at the young man's hearing. They tell him what he has stolen from them. They show him the depth of their sorrow. And then, they forgive him. There just isn't room in a heart for hatred and love. They choose love.                                                   Find the article here.                             

This is a strong thing.

Imagine this:

An infant is adopted from abandonment. He is terrified of people. He has been diagnosed with a language disorder. He has a sensory processing disorder. He is not an easy child to enjoy. And yet, his mom takes him out, to explore places, to be with people, to interact and intermingle - always hoping beyond hope that he will connect.

And he does. To a stranger at a rodeo. He laughs and giggles, and discusses the bulls. The mother sits by in tears because a miracle has happened. Her heart is full at the kindness of that stranger, the one who chose to love a boy unconditionally.                                                     Find the article here.

This is a strong thing.

Imagine this: 

A young woman with Down syndrome is preparing to graduate high school. She is excited to do and be like the other graduates. She is excited about the robe, and the hat, the diploma, the ceremony. But she can't do it all by herself, independently. She can't quite wrap her intellect around the alphabetical order, the turn this card in at that table at this time, the lining up and the marching in, the waiting your turn. It's all confusing.

A young man, about to graduate himself, with honors and a scholarship to play football, on a day when it should be all about him, chooses to take this young woman under his wing. Into his care. He does it out of kindness. The kindness of a stranger enables the young woman to soar through the ceremony, without helicopter adults; she is doing and being like the other graduates. It is a gift.

Read about it here, here, and here.

This is a strong thing. 

Imagine this:

El, the Master of the Universe, created day and night and all that they encompass with His holy breath. He formed creatures to inhabit the air, the sea, and land. Then He made man and He made woman. These He made in His own image, companions to each other and to Him. He gave them His world, His universe. He gave them free will. He saw that all was well and good.

Free will includes temptation. It includes enticement. It includes choices. The man and the woman made a choice that separated them from the face of El. It was a disobedient choice. It was sin. And sin then became a part of who they were, separate from their Maker. Sin was separate from good. All was no longer well.

But El, still loved his creation. Unconditionally. Even when they wronged and disrespected His wishes. Even when they allowed the not good to ruin them, to ruin the earth, to ruin the creatures. And He made a plan to redeem them.

Through selfless love, He came to earth. Fully man and fully God. Through selfless love, He experienced hurt and pain, hunger and sickness, violence and greed. Blameless He allowed Himself to be sacrificed. For the sins of men. He experienced punishment and returned grace. He experienced thirst, and returned mercy. He experienced hatred, and returned forgiveness.

Through selfless love, He changed the world.

This is the strongest thing.

"If we could imagine the love of one who loves men purely for their own sake, and not because of any need or desire of his own, purely desires their good, and yet loves them wholly, not for what at this moment they are, but for what he knows he can make of them because he made them, then we should have in our minds some true image of the love of the Father and Creator of mankind."  --O.C. Quick

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for your love, your unconditional, all-powerful, inseparable love.

Help us to remember to love others as you have loved us.

It can change the world.

It is the strongest thing.

Linking with: The Sunday Community, Monday's Musings, Soli Deo Gloria Sisterhood, RaRaLinkup

A Fragile Thing

Then Christ will make his home in your hearts as you trust in him. 
Your roots will grow down into God’s love and keep you strong. 
Ephesians 3:17 (NLT)

Fragile: 

• (of an object) easily broken or damaged, flimsy or insubstantial, easily destroyed
• (of a person) not strong or sturdy, delicate or vulnerable

-Web definition from Google search

We are at chapel. My daughter is wearing her favorite blue dress, the one I bought her for a homecoming dance four years ago. She is excited this morning, and has been telling me about her 'friends' on the short ride over, the chaplains and their wives whose names she has learned in the past few months of attending. She tells me that Cody will be out of town, but his wife, Jenn will be there. She tells me she is a leader; she has a job. She tells me she is a good usher. 

We walk through the door into the back of the sanctuary together. We are early. I watch her look around at the people who have arrived before the service, like us. I see her eyes light up as she spots those she knows. We find a seat. Her friends are spread out, mingling and talking. They are all engaged. I sense her impatience; she wants to say 'hi.' She wants to say 'Happy Father's day'. She wants to mingle and talk.

I tell her that she can't interrupt. She needs to wait. So she sits next to me; she's smiling in anticipation. I'm proud of her; this is social maturity. She is learning. 

I see her favorite chaplain break away from his conversation. She sees him, too. I nod my ok and she jumps up to greet him. She says all the things I expect and more. She asks him if he likes her dress. She tells him her father has a cold. She tells him where we had lunch yesterday. He smiles and nods; I can see he tries very hard to understand her. From my seat, I tell him that yes, we had a great day with lunch out, and no, unfortunately my husband has a cold so will not be at chapel...I want to translate without making her think she's spoken wrong, and without him feeling like a frustrated listener.

This is a fragile thing.

The ushers are called to the front and the plates passed out. My daughter doesn't get a plate. She doesn't understand. I anticipate her confusion even before her arms raise and lower in question. Her friend of the do-you-like-my-dress conversation rescues two more offering plates from behind the pews in the front. He hands one to my daughter. I see her breath of relief. I hear her voice in my head: I am an usher. 

This is a fragile thing.

I think about the responsibility of holding someone's esteem. I think about how it must feel to realize someone has gone out of their way to see you, to speak with you, to listen to you. To be with you. How do you handle the attention? Do you watch what you say, realizing that your words are an influence? Do you want to make sure you listen well? Do you want to rescue them? Teach them? Build a relationship with them? Respect them? 

This is a fragile thing.

It is humbling. It is heavy. I think of depending on, living for, trusting. I think of parents and teachers. I think of friendships. I think of outside influences and pressure. I think of self esteem and confidence.

These are fragile things.

I think of Jesus.  I think of God.  I think of love. 

Love through Christ is not a fragile thing.

Heavenly Father,

Thank you for your mighty love. 

Help us to recognize our fragile things and to cover them with your strength, 
your kindness, your compassion, your righteousness.

Thank you for placing people in our lives who demonstrate how this is done.

You are amazing. 

Linking with Sunday Stillness, and Spiritual Sundays