A Powerful Force For Love

Today I had Patrick's IEP (Individualized Education Plan) for his transition to high school.

I wasn't expecting too much since we had recently had another IEP meeting and pretty much set up all of the expectations for next year and planned it all out ahead of time.

This was just a more formal hand off:

You, junior high group, formally pass the torch to the high school group.

It was an intimate affair.

One school psychiatrist. One inclusion specialist from the high school. 

One junior high inclusion specialist and me.

And the person of honor: Patrick.

So we started out the meeting in the usual way.

Let's list Patrick's strengths.

Patrick, you go first.

Patrick was prepared.

Mike, his awesome inclusion specialist, had worked with him.

He listed off his reading, his love of Shakespeare, his love of drama...

and then he paused.

So the team, ever conscious of time, and the need for a steady pace, stepped in.

Mike asked pointedly: "Any more strengths, Patrick?"

Patrick was thinking about it.

I wanted to jump in and list the many, many strengths that I know he has.

But I resisted.

I distracted myself: I pondered how I would have handled this question 

asked of me in a room full of adults as a 15 year old.

I would have said way more ummmms.

[Once again, I considered how faulty this whole process was...

how contrived and forced.

What 15 year old would want to discuss his or her strengths or challenges in a room full of adults?

What adult would?

Asking a typical student to do this is hard.

Asking a teenager with a developmental disability to do this is Herculean.]

Patrick ummed for only a short second and then he hit it out of the park:

"Oh, and I'm a powerful force for love."

What on earth?

Never.

Honestly.

Ever. 

Have I said that phrase.to anyone.

There was a silence in the room.

I wasn't sure if they had heard him...but Mike did.

I agreed with Patrick and chimed in.

"Yes, he's a powerful force for love...but I'm not sure where that will go in our paperwork."

In my mind, I'm in a trance.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Why, oh why, isn't that measurable?

Why does an ability to move fractions into percents seem to this audience as a greater strength?

Where's our humanity?

*****

What I love about this whole episode is that to those of us who have our days graced with someone with Down Syndrome this whole conversation doesn't seem so far-fetched.

People with Down Syndrome have a remarkable ability to keep it real.

To be candid and spot on.

They get to the heart of a situation.

They speak their minds...

without pretense or hidden agendas.

We just have to listen.

Or their genius gets overlooked...or lost...or worst of all, remains unknown.

No adult took the bait.

Patrick's comment went untouched.

Except for me.

His words just echoed. Over and over.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

His words became the haunting opportunity that remains largely missed in our schools.

Students with intellectual disabilities should be,

MUST BE,

included in typical classrooms...for this very reason.

THEY ARE A POWERFUL FORCE FOR LOVE.

And our classrooms need way more love.

Our typical students could sure use some love...

some acceptance...

some social, emotional acknowledgement.

Our schools need this powerful force,

way more than fractions or dates in history or grammar.

LOVE is the answer.

*****

Still, hours later, I'm hypnotized by those words.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Powerful force for love.

Maybe he said them just for my benefit.

They have forever changed me.

Patrick's words have become a mantra...

a challenge...

a request from the universe.

Most of all, they have become my heart's desire...

a daily affirmation...

to live more forcefully...

for love.

Let's be a powerful force for love. Today.

The Wabi-Sabi Life

"The notion is called Wabi-Sabi life, like the cherry blossom, it is beautiful because of its impermanence, not in spite of it, more exquisite for the inevitability of loss."

-- Peggy Orenstein

We don't consider our impermanence too often...unless we are forced to.

Having it thrust upon us.

Third graders virtually never do.

About a month ago I saw this article

on Katrina Kennison's Facebook page.

It startled me. 

It wowed me.

It made me see everything that was laying on the ground outside as an object of beauty

a piece of a puzzle

a gift.

An artist named Ja Soon Kim who lives in New Mexico 

collects things...

leaves, petals, twigs, stones, crabapples, feathers, sea shells

and carefully, 
mindfully, 
intentionally 

selects a spot on a square of white or black

and creates art

Exhibit A

These happen to be little red leaves...but it could be

Exhibit B

...bark.

These works of art of hers aren't glued down or shellacked or in some way made permanent.

She takes a photo.

She posts it to Instagram.

She moves on...

and leaves the rest of us wanting more...

pondering about what else could be selected so carefully and placed so meticulously.

Exhibit C

Fallen crabapples.

*****

When I saw her work, I wanted to see what third graders might think.

I wanted to take them on a walk and watch them look at the discards of our natural world and ponder a white space and where it might find a place.

I wondered if they would think it was weird...

or dumb...

or pointless...

I wondered if they could possibly understand impermanence.

Savor the fleeting.

Turns out they could.

I've done art with many classes of many ages over many years.

For me, this lesson was very likely my most successful.

They understood.

They made the most of their walk...their freedom to pick and choose 

and delight in something nature no longer needed.

When it came time to place the objects, none wanted to glue it down.

Maybe the knowledge that there was a photo to commemorate it helped.

They were eager to design and savor and click a photo and start again.

Here is a sampling of their designs...

Exhibit A

 Kate: "In everything there is a swirl of light."

Exhibit B

Kerrigan: "Every day you bloom to be a new person."

Exhibit C

Lauren: "Everything is flowerful."

There is a whimsy, a lightness, a generosity in their quotes...

the impermanence is beautiful and they relish it.

Maybe it's their distance from big loss.

Maybe it's their childish wonder.

Maybe it's the purity and grace of childhood.

Exhibit D

Gabby: "Nothing lasts forever."

And Gabby states it so clearly, so simply, that it gives me pause.

Those dandelion fluffs already disintegrating...

so fragile that with any movement, a seed is lost.

She knows what we all know...time is passing...things fall apart...people must leave...
but she stops.
She creates.
She leaves her mark.

We all must.
We are called to create.
To love.
To sing, dance, write, wonder, experiment...
connect.

And from all of these beautiful impermanent moments maybe that's what matters most.

I do know it's a Wabi-Sabi life and somehow having a name for it helps.

Thank you Ja Soon Kim.

Thank you third graders.
Thank you for spotting the beauty in the gutter...
in the cracks and crevices...
in the hidden places.

Just look what you did.

Here, for good measure, is Caroline's...Exhibit  E

Her quote: "You wish it, you want it, you make it happen."

Lastly, my darling niece Lizzy reminds us of what really matters...

Exhibit F

Lizzy: "Smile."

It's a Wabi-Sabi life...there's nothing to lose (or maybe there's everything to lose)...
let's push the pause button...and smile.

You Are Awesome! Yes, You!

Yes, I'm talking to you.

So, one of my favorite things to do is to enjoy my local Turkey Trot.

You probably have something like this in your town...it's a race (5K or 10K or kid's race options) and streets are closed off, and port-a-potties are lined up and a big finish line banner is hoisted and it becomes very official: people are running, or walking, or pushing strollers.

I have participated in my town's Turkey Trot one time as a stroller-pusher with Caroline strapped in as a toddler.  She seemed fine with it.  Patrick walked alongside me and it was a good feeling of participating as a group working toward being healthy and a citizen of my town.

But I didn't like it nearly as much as my sideline participation in the Turkey Trot.

You see, the Turkey Trot goes right by house.

And every year I get up, purposely late, walk to the corner and scream to the runners: 

You Are AWESOME!!

I just yell and yell for about 45 minutes.  

Cheering on the runners at the end of the race.  They aren't the elite racers. They aren't the every-day-five-mile-no-matter-what runners.  These are the ones who are trailing behind and bringing up the back.

I pretty much repeat the same phrase over and over and I'm telling you, it's a winner.

The reactions are so honest and so beautiful and some are downright funny.

You have the "super-cool-and-I'm-a-real-runner" reaction...

they don't flinch, they give a head nod and keep running, they keep their pace and stay focused.

They are real runners after all and cannot be distracted by a weirdo yelling You're Awesome.

Let me also reveal for the record that I am most assuredly not a real runner.  

I attempted cross country in 8th grade and had some heart palpitations that sent my mom into her own heart palpitations and the distraction of running became a no no.

Couldn't even entertain the thought...besides...I didn't like it.

I'd much rather be a walker, a bike rider, a dog walking-dancing machine...anything but running.

So it helps that I truly do think these people running -- and that includes everyone -- are awesome for getting out there and doing it.

So back to the runners...

we have the "dang-I-can-barely-take-another-step" runner.  

These people are winded, tuckered out and shame faced when they come upon my cheering.

They mistakenly believe I'm cheering for someone else.

When I call them out and say, "Yes, you!! You are awesome!!" They look up and get that shy smile that is the effort of every cheering section on the planet.

And, for a millisecond they let it sink in...they are awesome.

Sometimes they brush it off but other times it perks them up and you can see the transformation.

You can see their mind calculating: "Wait. I'm not running, I'm breathing hard, I'm struggling, how can I be awesome...but that weirdo over there is yelling it directly to me...and well, I am out here running, and it is a foggy/rainy/cold day...maybe I am awesome."

I love it.

Yes, you are awesome!!

No proving it.

No worthiness needed.

You, right there, hon, you are awesome!!

When I'm doing my cheering, I get in the flow.

I don't care who sees me or how crazy it looks.

I love having the socially acceptable moment to yell "You are awesome!"

 to anyone and everyone on my path.

I highly recommend trying it sometime.

It makes your heart swell.

For a brief moment in time, you can see the awesomeness in all of humanity and it's pretty beautiful.

Of course, there's always the polite runners.

The ones who've been taught manners and thank you notes and reciprocity.

They are the ones that when I yell "You are awesome!" to them they yell right back to me, 

"You're awesome too. Thanks!"

I smile my shy smile because the mother in me wants to high five the mother that shadowed and loved and nurtured those runners...you see, that mother is most definitely running right alongside them.

Heloise would agree...manners matter...even in a Turkey Trot.

Maybe it's the time of year...steeped in gratitude, ginkgo trees and fire ash and oaks showing off, humanity has a halo of goodness built in for me.

But whatever it is, I love the Turkey Trot.

And if you didn't get to hear my cheer, here's one for you, 

You're awesome!!

What Love Is

So...do you remember the young couple I wrote to over here in the blog piece, 

What I Want You To Know?

Well a lot has happened since that time.

Just a few days after that post, sweet baby Jonah was born nine weeks early.

It was a traumatic birth for both mother and baby...brutal, difficult, scary.

all.the.way.around.

Not one single step has been easy for sweet Jonah.

There were definitely moments where Jonah's life was in danger as well as his mom's.

Do you know what I've seen from Jonah's mom and dad, time and time again?

LOVE.

I've seen shy smiles.

I've seen tenderness and gentleness and overwhelming care for their tiny bundle.

They've been there waiting to hold him, love him, whisper to him and talk to him.

They've read him board books, brought loved ones over to see him and generally have been keeping vigil over their most precious son.

This, my friends, is what love looks like.

While ISIS does it's vicious, evil deeds in Syria and Iraq,

while Ebola becomes a common topic for discussion,

a new mom and dad are over here loving their precious son...

and letting him know in every way, every day that they are here for him.

Love is so very patient...tending and watching.

Love is kind...to nurses and doctors and others who are in the way...but always to that bundle.

Love isn't asking for an easier path.

Love isn't rude or self-seeking or easily angered.

Always protecting.

Always trusting.

Always hoping.

Love shows up.

Day in and day out.

Even when it's really hard and you don't want to.

Sweet baby Jonah is doing much better.

He's still in the hospital but he's getting chubby.

He's had his surgery for his intestinal blockage.

He's even had a bath!

He's getting real nutrition and beginning to have opinions...which is always a good sign.

Jonah is blessed to know deep, abiding love.

I couldn't be more grateful for Jeff and Melissa's example.

They are grace-in-the-ordinary dealing with extraordinary circumstances.

Melissa and Jeff -- congratulations to you both.

Through your love for each other and for Jonah you are changing the world.

We can't help but want to be more like you.

Love never fails.

You know that.

Thanks for the reminder.