I remember when my young daughter's new doll gave her an insight of searing truth: "Mom, this doll doesn't do all the commercial says it does!"
Yesterday at work, my intern who is enrolled in a government summer jobs program, reported that she still hadn't been approved for work, after 11 weeks of submitting paper work and waiting on them to "process."
She had done everything right. Even being on the autism spectrum, she had self-advocated to her limits even as a young person.
I still had the government jobs program's glossy fliers on my desk. Need a job? Want pay? Have a barrier of sorts? We can help!
If there's one thing I can't stand, it's the false marketing pretense of doing something for those on the autism spectrum. We experienced this on a college visit to a campus in Arkansas -- beautiful descriptive web site page, brochures, program outline. Yet upon arriving, we found out how few it served, and I personally heard insensitive remarks from the program coordinator in the presence of my son.
Well, I got on the phone yesterday, on a pursuit. I heard excuses from a higher up. But, I did not confront her and agreed to wait while she talked to the right person.
My intern only has a few weeks to now work since the government program has forced her to wait and waylay other summer funds she could have earned. They effected the opposite of what they purported in their glossy brochure -- they contributed to lack of financial independence and work.
A good lesson for those who are trying to help. Programming is difficult; words are easier. Be authentic stewards as much as possible.
Showing posts with label autism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label autism. Show all posts
Thursday, July 07, 2016
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Needy
For he will deliver the needy who cry out,
the afflicted who have no one to help.
He will take pity on the weak and the needy
and save the needy from death.
He will rescue them from oppression and violence,
for precious is their blood in his sight. (Psalm 72:12-14 NIV)
I sat at a table last night with other swirling mothers. I had a good cold green chili beer and a smoked salmon pasta dish in front of me. All seemed good. Yet cries of the needy reverberated in my head and spirit as I listened to the moms talk about life with their autistic child.
Sad, worried. Resolutely hopeful within hopelessness. Trouble, crisis. Loneliness. Marriage tension. Smiles, tears. Adrift, adrift, anchor casting and pulling in.
When I see the above verses, I can't imagine being God. Just think about all the cries of the needy. I had one table; God has a whole world. Yet the claim that "precious is their blood in his sight" attests to His especial care for the needy, for these stricken with autism, for those who fight for dignity in every corner of their lives. God gives them dignity and love. But a wall is up between this fact and recognition.
I lift up my table of swirling mothers, Lord, of the children they represent, help us all to know without a doubt your true character and interest, that we can rest in your care and loving regard. Please help all practical needs. Please rescue. Please stabilize. Please, please, take pity. Amen.
the afflicted who have no one to help.
He will take pity on the weak and the needy
and save the needy from death.
He will rescue them from oppression and violence,
for precious is their blood in his sight. (Psalm 72:12-14 NIV)
I sat at a table last night with other swirling mothers. I had a good cold green chili beer and a smoked salmon pasta dish in front of me. All seemed good. Yet cries of the needy reverberated in my head and spirit as I listened to the moms talk about life with their autistic child.
Sad, worried. Resolutely hopeful within hopelessness. Trouble, crisis. Loneliness. Marriage tension. Smiles, tears. Adrift, adrift, anchor casting and pulling in.
When I see the above verses, I can't imagine being God. Just think about all the cries of the needy. I had one table; God has a whole world. Yet the claim that "precious is their blood in his sight" attests to His especial care for the needy, for these stricken with autism, for those who fight for dignity in every corner of their lives. God gives them dignity and love. But a wall is up between this fact and recognition.
I lift up my table of swirling mothers, Lord, of the children they represent, help us all to know without a doubt your true character and interest, that we can rest in your care and loving regard. Please help all practical needs. Please rescue. Please stabilize. Please, please, take pity. Amen.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
The crickets are too much with us, late and soon
Right now, as I sit on my outside bench, the crickets are much louder than the birds. Has it come to this that the lowly insects take over the morning song of the bird?
In my spirit, I feel many insects taking over a more lovely sound of assurance. Back in June, I petitioned my school board regarding serving students with learning struggles. One woman in particular, an attorney, interrupted my presentation, asked questions, couldn't see how the school could possibly offer this without lawsuits, was more interested in how the school could serve the gifted. My perceptual hearing there, of course.
Today, I'm discouraged. I've been waiting on God to bear good fruit, to prompt someone to take up the cause of the student who gets denied or discharged because of needs that they have. I'm waiting on someone to connect Jesus' ministry to the oppressed to educating and loving on Christian school students of many different ability levels. I'm waiting on someone to eschew the Greek model of excellence in exchange for the Christian/the Jesus view of excellence as compassion, love in action. But, all I hear are insects and nothing else.
I'm waiting in a hard place, and I'm impatient. And, I'm mad.
I see all kinds of outrage on Facebook right now regarding Obamacare. I see phrases of "my money!" "money!" "money!" One Christian cousin, right after she posted a lovely Bible verse, posted a photo which said to "run the bastards out of office!"
I'm sick of the insects this morning. Sick of the focus being on the dollar, the anger. I am angry. I'm sick of people evading the question of how best to take care of others. What are our responsibilities? The poor will always be with us. There is a responsible approach, but there's also an irresponsible approach and focus. I feel like too many wrong questions are being answered with outrage.
"The world is too much with us" writes William Wordsworth, and all I hear are the stupid drone of the insects, living a short life, and trying to reproduce more insects for the future. I could be one of them trying to make my whine a song. Jesus, help us all to transcend the angry racket and hear one of your simple melodies we can imitate. Amen.
In my spirit, I feel many insects taking over a more lovely sound of assurance. Back in June, I petitioned my school board regarding serving students with learning struggles. One woman in particular, an attorney, interrupted my presentation, asked questions, couldn't see how the school could possibly offer this without lawsuits, was more interested in how the school could serve the gifted. My perceptual hearing there, of course.
Today, I'm discouraged. I've been waiting on God to bear good fruit, to prompt someone to take up the cause of the student who gets denied or discharged because of needs that they have. I'm waiting on someone to connect Jesus' ministry to the oppressed to educating and loving on Christian school students of many different ability levels. I'm waiting on someone to eschew the Greek model of excellence in exchange for the Christian/the Jesus view of excellence as compassion, love in action. But, all I hear are insects and nothing else.
I'm waiting in a hard place, and I'm impatient. And, I'm mad.
I see all kinds of outrage on Facebook right now regarding Obamacare. I see phrases of "my money!" "money!" "money!" One Christian cousin, right after she posted a lovely Bible verse, posted a photo which said to "run the bastards out of office!"
I'm sick of the insects this morning. Sick of the focus being on the dollar, the anger. I am angry. I'm sick of people evading the question of how best to take care of others. What are our responsibilities? The poor will always be with us. There is a responsible approach, but there's also an irresponsible approach and focus. I feel like too many wrong questions are being answered with outrage.
"The world is too much with us" writes William Wordsworth, and all I hear are the stupid drone of the insects, living a short life, and trying to reproduce more insects for the future. I could be one of them trying to make my whine a song. Jesus, help us all to transcend the angry racket and hear one of your simple melodies we can imitate. Amen.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Unnamed birds
The wind is coolish, pleasant on the deck this early morning. A couple of birds are cawing, chortling -- but they're not crows. I wish I knew the names of birds like I do plants. But, unfortunately, I am an ignoramus to who they are! I thank them, though, for making my backyard more alive, along with the leaves rustling, chasing away the bowl of record heat which has been here in the Midwest for about a month.
I wonder what my Compassion International kids are hearing around them in nature, in school. One of my kids, a 15 year old from Hondorus, just became my Facebook friend, which is probably against policy. She seems like a fairly typical teen, instead of one of those starving children on the World Vision commercials. But, showcasing can be truth and manipulation -- it is that bad in select places. But in others, a typical teen struggles with poverty and opening her heart to Jesus first, despite the boys, despite the home life, despite, despite, so I pray for her on that. And, I hope she prays for me. One of our children, a boy from Rwanda, wrote and told me he has my picture taped on his bed so that he can remember to pray for me. I'm grateful! It goes both ways, from Africa to the United States and vice versa, in all of our poverties. The bird sings on.
Yesterday, I had coffee with a mother who has two children with chronic life conditions. Her 14 year old son has brain bleeding and, thus, strokes -- he's wheelchair confined at the moment, recovering, recovering from another bout which has been a life plague. Her eight year old is a nonverbal autistic child. We talked, laughed, commisserated for a couple of hours even though we were strangers at first. We're both trying to figure out and accept the spiritual layer of suffering; she has been hurt at the hands of Christians; she's often at limbo in trust. It was good to share the complexities of the eternal questions of "Why?" "Where?" and the realities of the shake-fisting, apologies, repenting, releasing, tiring, rejuvenating cycle of the spiritual life. We can't shake Jesus because he won't shake us (sang a knowledgeable songwriter I heard recently). I saw the true warrior in her. I pray she keeps marching, stumbling, leaping toward eternal hope and glory.
Regarding good works mentioned in yesterday's writing, here's an excellent quote which puts the topic in better perspective, taking it from self to the transcendent:
Self-realization only leads to the glorification of good works, whereas a saint of God glorifies Jesus Christ through his good works. Whatever we may be doing— even eating, drinking, or washing disciples’ feet— we have to take the initiative of realizing and recognizing Jesus Christ in it. Oswald Chambers
Perhaps in doing so, we can name the Singer of the chorus that takes us outside of ourselves as the all-source for companionship and love which we can sing for the benefit of others. The unnamed is named and identified. The good bird sings on, and we know His tune. Amen.
I wonder what my Compassion International kids are hearing around them in nature, in school. One of my kids, a 15 year old from Hondorus, just became my Facebook friend, which is probably against policy. She seems like a fairly typical teen, instead of one of those starving children on the World Vision commercials. But, showcasing can be truth and manipulation -- it is that bad in select places. But in others, a typical teen struggles with poverty and opening her heart to Jesus first, despite the boys, despite the home life, despite, despite, so I pray for her on that. And, I hope she prays for me. One of our children, a boy from Rwanda, wrote and told me he has my picture taped on his bed so that he can remember to pray for me. I'm grateful! It goes both ways, from Africa to the United States and vice versa, in all of our poverties. The bird sings on.
Yesterday, I had coffee with a mother who has two children with chronic life conditions. Her 14 year old son has brain bleeding and, thus, strokes -- he's wheelchair confined at the moment, recovering, recovering from another bout which has been a life plague. Her eight year old is a nonverbal autistic child. We talked, laughed, commisserated for a couple of hours even though we were strangers at first. We're both trying to figure out and accept the spiritual layer of suffering; she has been hurt at the hands of Christians; she's often at limbo in trust. It was good to share the complexities of the eternal questions of "Why?" "Where?" and the realities of the shake-fisting, apologies, repenting, releasing, tiring, rejuvenating cycle of the spiritual life. We can't shake Jesus because he won't shake us (sang a knowledgeable songwriter I heard recently). I saw the true warrior in her. I pray she keeps marching, stumbling, leaping toward eternal hope and glory.
Regarding good works mentioned in yesterday's writing, here's an excellent quote which puts the topic in better perspective, taking it from self to the transcendent:
Self-realization only leads to the glorification of good works, whereas a saint of God glorifies Jesus Christ through his good works. Whatever we may be doing— even eating, drinking, or washing disciples’ feet— we have to take the initiative of realizing and recognizing Jesus Christ in it. Oswald Chambers
Perhaps in doing so, we can name the Singer of the chorus that takes us outside of ourselves as the all-source for companionship and love which we can sing for the benefit of others. The unnamed is named and identified. The good bird sings on, and we know His tune. Amen.
Sunday, July 08, 2012
Flourishing fullness
But I am like an olive tree
flourishing in the house of God;
I trust in God's unfailing love
for ever and ever. (Psalm 52:8 NIV)
A fresh, yet still wind, blows upon my deck where I'm sitting. Somewhere, somewhere it is raining on parched corn fields, on spotty grass grazing pastures, on pines ready to burst. I have confirmation of this from farmer parents, from Facebook posters. Ah, precious water falling; you have been on retreat for too long. Come into the steaming, parched world now and minister to the thirsty!
(A little poetic apostrophe there for you:)
I copied the above verse which caught my heart. Much resonates in it. Last night, as we attended the wedding reception of my husband's high school friend, he heard about everyone's successful children. The men measured themselves against one another in this area or jobs or even physical fitness.
One daughter is a doctor. Many fathers are coaches for their athletic children. Scholarships have been offered. Talents and smoother roads abound.
But, we are especially chosen parents, I told him. We know new dimensions of courage, individuality, challenge, suffering, joy that other parents are unaware. We are blessed, and my husband knew it to be true. We love our son tremendously; we sometimes just grieve for him and are not comforted by those things that other children can hold onto as normal rites of passage. Yet everyone has their pain, their path to hoe, their droughts amidst hot winds.
I like that we can all be "an olive tree flourishing" because of "God's unfailing love." We don't have to succeed like the world says to succeed, or my private Christian school, or a group of parents who do not have second sight due to experience-lived. We can all be a flourishing olive tree, full of fruits, full of favor.
With the parenting of my son, I feel full of favor. I pray that he will also feel this fullness in his life, knowing that he has been infinitely blessed by being who he is. Please God help him find purpose and, especially, your unfailing love. I pray for every reader's child too that they can be kind, compassionate, and also one which waves in the wind, well-watered, bearing fruit, and praising your name in all they do. Amen.
A fresh, yet still wind, blows upon my deck where I'm sitting. Somewhere, somewhere it is raining on parched corn fields, on spotty grass grazing pastures, on pines ready to burst. I have confirmation of this from farmer parents, from Facebook posters. Ah, precious water falling; you have been on retreat for too long. Come into the steaming, parched world now and minister to the thirsty!
(A little poetic apostrophe there for you:)
I copied the above verse which caught my heart. Much resonates in it. Last night, as we attended the wedding reception of my husband's high school friend, he heard about everyone's successful children. The men measured themselves against one another in this area or jobs or even physical fitness.
One daughter is a doctor. Many fathers are coaches for their athletic children. Scholarships have been offered. Talents and smoother roads abound.
But, we are especially chosen parents, I told him. We know new dimensions of courage, individuality, challenge, suffering, joy that other parents are unaware. We are blessed, and my husband knew it to be true. We love our son tremendously; we sometimes just grieve for him and are not comforted by those things that other children can hold onto as normal rites of passage. Yet everyone has their pain, their path to hoe, their droughts amidst hot winds.
I like that we can all be "an olive tree flourishing" because of "God's unfailing love." We don't have to succeed like the world says to succeed, or my private Christian school, or a group of parents who do not have second sight due to experience-lived. We can all be a flourishing olive tree, full of fruits, full of favor.
With the parenting of my son, I feel full of favor. I pray that he will also feel this fullness in his life, knowing that he has been infinitely blessed by being who he is. Please God help him find purpose and, especially, your unfailing love. I pray for every reader's child too that they can be kind, compassionate, and also one which waves in the wind, well-watered, bearing fruit, and praising your name in all they do. Amen.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Frankenstein funk
Frankie. Why did you do it? Why do you have such insatiable desires for revenge upon your Maker? Yes, he abandoned you. Yes, you repulsed him. But, why kill innocent victims as a means to a vile end?
I am teaching Frankenstein once more which explains my dream of him right before waking. My "Frankie" was a woman (yet recognized as Frankenstein) who took young schoolboys and drowned them in a bathtub. Even my own son's turn came up, and I followed her spluttering, "Stop!" but was unable to prevent her from holding him under.
Later, I had the painful thought, "Why didn't I stop her? Why didn't I immediately go to the authorities? Why did none of the eyewitnesses do so?" And, no soothing answers were found. So, I've awakened in a bit of a sad funk, wondering what my dream was about. Knowing, though.
Yesterday the issue of school came up. A mother of a son with dyslexia and I spoke of our fantasy schools which would accept and work with our sons. Then, later at my school's basketball game, various people asked about my son's public school experience. Politeness dictates that you don't spew forth your own anxieties; you respond as favorably as possible. But, on the way home, your son tells you how much he hates school. I trust his reasons. A child must learn to march on, though. Real life means this, right?
School placement has always been a Frankenstein for us.
Thus, I need God this morning to help me not sink into the despair and helplessness of the dream. Therefore, I'll end with a picture to counter the monster, and I'll trust in Christ's goodness to walk alongside us in the sometimes foggy and fearful world. Amen.
Monday, January 09, 2012
Blessed aggression
I'm sure there's a Bible verse which applies to doing the opposite of what's shown above. But, I can look at the violence depicted with warmth and gratitude. Thank you, Aggressive Competitor Spirit, who overtook my son last night during an indoor soccer match.
In our family, soccer has a story of its own, beginning with adorable little soccer outfits which had to be discarded. Autism and adhd made a team sport virtually impossible. From the sidelines, we were in pain. On the field, our son was in lalaland or anti-team land or coach-yelling-his-name-a-thousand-times-land or other players looking at him with repulsion and anger land. When he came off the field, he was broken in a thousand pieces; one more piece of ground where he was asked to leave and not be a part of. I can see his contorted face now, remember our contorted hearts, and the persisent thought, "One more thing to give up."
Then there was a period of martial arts, independent work.
However, as my son matured (and with the love of his dad for sports), he sought activity, running, kicking, throwing => adopted the ball fascination boys have. It's one of the dreams his father desired.
Soccer returned for a trial at the private Christian school where I teach and where my son attended for awhile. The first week was a disaster as my son told the coach not to tell him what to do; when the boys tried to help him along by yell-instructing him, my son spoke back; when he got in the van afterwards, we listened, calmed, encouraged incessantly. Some practices were psychologically disastrous; some were alright. We held our breath.
Yet he continued on. The boys accepted him. He had an incredible spurt of speed, and he improved quickly. He was complimented upon his success on the field. I'll never forget a certain smile: rare pride of self; a flash of wholesome happiness. We had all been in a desert for so long in many areas besides sports.
Thus to help him with his skills, I signed him up for a privace recreation center's indoor soccer league. I was afraid, prayerful => how would the boys treat him? Would the coach be a yeller? Would this backfire? Would he get hurt? I called and spoke with the coach for reassurance. Alright, who needs her St. John's Wort now in horse-pill size?
Last year in this league, my son was timid, just as I was fearful. The playing was good, though. The boys were kind like at school. My son was 50/50 on his perceptual playing. We van-counseled in the van, yes, but we enjoyed, and he endured again.
Last night was his first game this year in the same league. The timid boy is gone. He can sprint like lightening, and he can push and shove against the indoor wall. His father and I had smiles on our faces to see such boldness. We all celebrated in the car on the way home as Cody, with wholesome happiness, related how he did it, and to whom, and how it felt so good.
Amen for paths which signify more than one knows.
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
Aspie trails
Aspie trails to you, until we meet again.
I know last month was autism awareness month, but it should have been name autism flare month. Perhaps the changing weather, the lilting confusing chemicals within mind and body, the increased agitations from the pollens?
Last night, I saw a headline online which said "Autism linked to Parents' Mental Illness." It reminded me of ancient times when having twins meant that evil was within the parents. I looked up causes of autism again this morning and saw a long list, not solely genetics either. No one knows for sure. I hate being blamed. Although I do have the run-of-the-mill mentally down or anxious times, I would not call myself mentally ill. Isn't it easy to blame the parents? Parents are doing the best they can, at least we are. It's frustrating ... on we march despite outside critique and finger-pointing and devised correlation from sample groups.
Today, we begin a series of attacks against some of Cody's recent fluctuations -- we go to a new allergist, a whole-person allergist. Then next week, we go to a counselor. First, my husband and I go as parents who are tired, hopeful, needful of counsel, desirous of more tools to help. Then we send Cody -- these early teen years are indicators of new things, new intensity. Finally, we're trying a psychiatrist out, just to talk, perhaps to explore medicines. Aiii, I hate saying that word aloud, yet inner mental pain may need an aspirin. We will be cautious there.
April caused me to seek out that essential spiritual dependence, so God gave me this verse, which is perfect for our worry:
Although he may stumble, he will never fall because the Lord holds him in his right hand. Psalms
I know last month was autism awareness month, but it should have been name autism flare month. Perhaps the changing weather, the lilting confusing chemicals within mind and body, the increased agitations from the pollens?
Last night, I saw a headline online which said "Autism linked to Parents' Mental Illness." It reminded me of ancient times when having twins meant that evil was within the parents. I looked up causes of autism again this morning and saw a long list, not solely genetics either. No one knows for sure. I hate being blamed. Although I do have the run-of-the-mill mentally down or anxious times, I would not call myself mentally ill. Isn't it easy to blame the parents? Parents are doing the best they can, at least we are. It's frustrating ... on we march despite outside critique and finger-pointing and devised correlation from sample groups.
Today, we begin a series of attacks against some of Cody's recent fluctuations -- we go to a new allergist, a whole-person allergist. Then next week, we go to a counselor. First, my husband and I go as parents who are tired, hopeful, needful of counsel, desirous of more tools to help. Then we send Cody -- these early teen years are indicators of new things, new intensity. Finally, we're trying a psychiatrist out, just to talk, perhaps to explore medicines. Aiii, I hate saying that word aloud, yet inner mental pain may need an aspirin. We will be cautious there.
April caused me to seek out that essential spiritual dependence, so God gave me this verse, which is perfect for our worry:
Although he may stumble, he will never fall because the Lord holds him in his right hand. Psalms
Monday, March 10, 2008
about a boy
I'm so worried about Cody today. Last night at a birthday party for one of the men in my bluegrass group, I was surrounded by their inquisitive wives and other women. They had multiple questions for me about Cody's perfect pitch, about his Asperger's, about, about, about. Today, fresh upon the thought, upon the concerned faces and encouragement, upon the memories of that lost little boy struggling desperately within normal expectations, I woke up realizing our journey and worried worried about his future path. He has found his gift of music, and we engage in it daily, yet he feels still so alone as it relates to his peers. The fear has gripped me again. Please, God, help him grow, releasing inhibitions, toxics, anger, fear, the harsh outer words of the world. Release me to trust you to take care of him. Amen and amen.
Friday, August 03, 2007
Perspectus
The world revolves for those of us lucky enough to be here.
When I see the collapsed bridge in Minneapolis, I can't help but think of Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge of San Luis Rey" in which he examines the lives of those who were crossing the bridge when it snapped and fell. The novel poses the question of destiny / fate / divine purpose against random occurence. The question used to bother me quite a bit. Now, I tend to believe that random occurence is a causal powerful thing which is hard to avoid in this land of natural laws and motions. Our divine purpose meets its wall. Our divine purpose occurs before meeting the wall. Perhaps God will move the wall, perhaps He won't. Perhaps we'll be on the wrong section of the bridge some time. May we live according to his plan and light until then.
But, life goes on for me. Cody finished his social skills training at the local autism center yesterday. I'm excitedly seeing timers and conversation topics and he and I conversing, with certain rules of conduct, over our reading. I think this will continue the work of the summer.
Music continues. Cody, his learn-by-play piano teacher (not the technical one on Monday's), and I whipped up a rendition of O Susannah to record on Wednesday afternoon. Cody wrote my (very haunted F minor sounding) harmony which I memorized on the mandolin. Linda played her guitar, and Cody manned the piano, having recorded also a drum part. We taped; Cody wasn't happy! We kept doing reworks. We kept laughing. He wants a mic for each instrument next week! I am grateful for Linda and call her Annie Sullivan, a deserving teacherly name for her.
My daughter is driving a friend to the KC airport today which worries me. I told her so, and she hushed me off, and I have no way to take her keys as she lives with her friends. Life goes on there. In a couple of weeks, we're all bound for the beach. I'll look forward then, away from the drive of the day.
Finally, I received my syllabus for my graduate class in English that I'll be taking online. Wow, am I crazy?! Yet, I'm idiotically looking forward to the learning goals and deadlines that this paper represents, now on the outside, soon to be swirled within the language of pedagogy. Do I have you to thank for this, Jennifer (haha)?
Life continues until who knows when or how. May God grant us perspective.
When I see the collapsed bridge in Minneapolis, I can't help but think of Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge of San Luis Rey" in which he examines the lives of those who were crossing the bridge when it snapped and fell. The novel poses the question of destiny / fate / divine purpose against random occurence. The question used to bother me quite a bit. Now, I tend to believe that random occurence is a causal powerful thing which is hard to avoid in this land of natural laws and motions. Our divine purpose meets its wall. Our divine purpose occurs before meeting the wall. Perhaps God will move the wall, perhaps He won't. Perhaps we'll be on the wrong section of the bridge some time. May we live according to his plan and light until then.
But, life goes on for me. Cody finished his social skills training at the local autism center yesterday. I'm excitedly seeing timers and conversation topics and he and I conversing, with certain rules of conduct, over our reading. I think this will continue the work of the summer.
Music continues. Cody, his learn-by-play piano teacher (not the technical one on Monday's), and I whipped up a rendition of O Susannah to record on Wednesday afternoon. Cody wrote my (very haunted F minor sounding) harmony which I memorized on the mandolin. Linda played her guitar, and Cody manned the piano, having recorded also a drum part. We taped; Cody wasn't happy! We kept doing reworks. We kept laughing. He wants a mic for each instrument next week! I am grateful for Linda and call her Annie Sullivan, a deserving teacherly name for her.
My daughter is driving a friend to the KC airport today which worries me. I told her so, and she hushed me off, and I have no way to take her keys as she lives with her friends. Life goes on there. In a couple of weeks, we're all bound for the beach. I'll look forward then, away from the drive of the day.
Finally, I received my syllabus for my graduate class in English that I'll be taking online. Wow, am I crazy?! Yet, I'm idiotically looking forward to the learning goals and deadlines that this paper represents, now on the outside, soon to be swirled within the language of pedagogy. Do I have you to thank for this, Jennifer (haha)?
Life continues until who knows when or how. May God grant us perspective.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
More Grace
I just joined another online support group for parenting an autistic child. This past week has necessitated it (it's better than beer and book in the long term:) per yesterday's post). And, it's a decidedly Christian one, making it a requirement to pray for one another. It's called PREACCH, or Parents Rearing and Educating Autistic Children in Christian Homes. When I read my first digest today, these lines encouraged. Looks as if if they're from a hymn.
HE GIVETH MORE GRACE
1. He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater;
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction, He addeth His mercy;
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
chorus: His love has no limit; His grace has no measure;
His power has no boundary known unto men.
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!
2. When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.
HE GIVETH MORE GRACE
1. He giveth more grace when the burdens grow greater;
He sendeth more strength when the labors increase;
To added affliction, He addeth His mercy;
To multiplied trials, His multiplied peace.
chorus: His love has no limit; His grace has no measure;
His power has no boundary known unto men.
For out of His infinite riches in Jesus,
He giveth, and giveth, and giveth again!
2. When we have exhausted our store of endurance,
When our strength has failed ere the day is half done,
When we reach the end of our hoarded resources,
Our Father's full giving is only begun.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Butterfly weed
Language, words, dissection, redirection, reassembly.
My life as a parent of an autism spectrum child brims with re-words, redefining, re-clarification. Re-wind. I just took my son and a friend to a laser energy/light class, plunking him into a confusing nominative-classification driven discipline. He wishes that the teacher spoke English.
That's understandable. It's a jargon for sure. I felt the same way at times, being a right-brain learner.
Yet all the way over there, Cody perseverated on a gaming issue of his, a desire for hacking, which needed a motherly ethical overview, an empathy insight, a golden rule. It's exhausting, and challenging, to help him understand other views than his own encased one. Each word, jargon, of a new idea requires slowness, examples, a requested replay back from him for comprehension. And, then, suddenly, once you're satisfied, he'll ask the same question over again. The road towards understanding resumes with the same landscape features. A tangled vine, a patch of meadow, a stand of brilliant orange butterfly weed. Perseveration is the vehicle towards eventual destination, I guess.
This summer, Cody is going to a social skills training class at a local autism clinic. I met two mothers the first night. We had a small debriefing with a staffer and then we visited, shared. I mentioned something about "incessant counseling", and one of them laughed! Ah, it's nice to be understood in this particularly unique mode of motherhood! I would be abundantly wealthy if I charged the going rate!
Onward, backwards, and onwards we go!
My life as a parent of an autism spectrum child brims with re-words, redefining, re-clarification. Re-wind. I just took my son and a friend to a laser energy/light class, plunking him into a confusing nominative-classification driven discipline. He wishes that the teacher spoke English.
That's understandable. It's a jargon for sure. I felt the same way at times, being a right-brain learner.
Yet all the way over there, Cody perseverated on a gaming issue of his, a desire for hacking, which needed a motherly ethical overview, an empathy insight, a golden rule. It's exhausting, and challenging, to help him understand other views than his own encased one. Each word, jargon, of a new idea requires slowness, examples, a requested replay back from him for comprehension. And, then, suddenly, once you're satisfied, he'll ask the same question over again. The road towards understanding resumes with the same landscape features. A tangled vine, a patch of meadow, a stand of brilliant orange butterfly weed. Perseveration is the vehicle towards eventual destination, I guess.
This summer, Cody is going to a social skills training class at a local autism clinic. I met two mothers the first night. We had a small debriefing with a staffer and then we visited, shared. I mentioned something about "incessant counseling", and one of them laughed! Ah, it's nice to be understood in this particularly unique mode of motherhood! I would be abundantly wealthy if I charged the going rate!
Onward, backwards, and onwards we go!
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