Therapist at Work

I've mentioned that it's been a rough week. It's still raw, but if I wait to summarize it will lack the true grit that I highly esteem.

We're crawling out from under a train wreck of hormones, medication changes, and burgeoning angst. It came to a head last Monday afternoon; Day 8 of what we will now call "the wrong medicine" blew up in all of our faces. Poor Reid landed off the bus in a sobbing pile on our living room loveseat. My heart broke as all he could choke out was, "mommy...i missed the bus...."

That was only the start of the terrible, horrible, no good very bad day. I could tell the whole eight hours must have been coursing through his mind. What just happened?...How did i get here?...What have I done?...I am so glad to be home... I can't do this anymore...all coming out in rare tears from this indefatiguable, exuberant boy with stamina, courage and joy that knows know bounds. He couldn't win over the chemical warfare in his already out of sync body.

I knew most of what had transpired, thanks to a call from school--uncharacteristic aggression, a restraint, a frustrated bus aide yelling reprimands in a German accent--but of course I wasn't there. Push had come to shove at a school where they don't dance around lines in the sand once they're drawn. I'd only witnessed the beginning at 7:07 that morning:

A substitute driver stuck strictly to his time chart and drove away from our open garage door. In my pajamas and Kat's Beetle (mine in the shop), we chased him down to the next pick up in Del Mar. I can't say for sure if he saw my frizzy bedhead as I stood waving frantically in my bright orange paisley flannel bottoms, no bra and a t-shirt, but I felt hard to miss. He drove off AGAIN as Reid zipped up his backpack with one foot on the running board.

Appalled, I joked through the surging adrenaline, "OMG! I can't believe this guy. The nerve. HA! We are gonna catch that bus!" In good spirits taking it in stride, Reid said, "Mom at Austin's house I am going to get out the fast way! My backpack is ready. I'm right on target." At the off ramp of the 56 in Carmel Valley now (still closer than driving to school which is 30 minutes away), I pulled up next to the bus and motioned in an angry charade that he better wait this time. The guy was close to comatose which gave me that sickening feeling of negligence that I even put my kid in his charge. How did we get here?

Back in the brokenhearted moment I cried with Reid, "Oh baby, it's not our fault. It's the wrong medicine. We know that now. I am SO sorry. No more of it. You can stay home tomorrow. We will figure this out." I am so sorry, so very sorry. How can I make it right. The tears are still right here. How can I spare him this? Confusion. Remorse. Out of control. Haywire.

By 4:30 as I glanced out the back window from my piano lesson to see him throwing sand at the hedge, it seemed like improvement. A minor offense at this point and maybe an effective way to vent the stress of the day. I called to him as usual, "your turn with Angela now, Reid."

No reply. Did I see him come in? Check upstairs. Oscar's can? One more loop. "Jim, Reid's gone." In quick reply, all five of us--Kat, Allie, and Angela in heels, fanned out calling "Reid, say 'here i am' Reeeid!

Allie and Kat to the neighbors who have Apple TV. Not there.

Jim up the street on a bike to ones who own Sound of Music.

Finally over the back fence we heard him answer my plea, "here i am" A second reply several minutes later enabled Jim to zero in on him in the cul de sac

below our back enbankment.

Long story short, we urged his distraught body home having averted any trespassing violation. He was crying again in his lower bunk, aware that dad was angry. Now poor Angela, the music therapist cum piano teacher cum friend of the family cum fellow sojourner in the way, would have to pick up the pieces and salvage the remainder of their session. (Had she been a stickler for time, it would have been over.)

She had already earned her keep with Allie in the foyer empathizing over sibling memories of her brother with Angelman syndrome. She has been there! And is there for each of us in unique ways. She's comfortable enough in our house and was going to have better luck at this point than any of us. So, without words, she went into his room to work her therapeutic magic. The rest of us just listened and learned through the walls.

"Reid, Kingsmen is tonight. the band needs you. you're such an important part of the band. we need to practice that new song. do you think i could sing you part of it to you?" She began to sing the Beatles song they're preparing, leaving out key words which he filled in. Then suggesting that maybe it would sound better with the piano downstairs, they rallied to the bench. Order restored for the time being.

Crouched in the living room praying in a private language for peace, wisdom, some end to this... I realized they'd switched gears and were singing Sara Groves' "He's Always Been Faithful."

He has always been faithful. As I tuned in, I realized we were both getting the therapy. Angela has an intuitive way of picking songs that scratch the itch and allow the Spirit to move through the music without agenda but with definite purpose.

Last week, she'd blessed me in a different way with a VIP ticket to the American Music Therapy Association conference. It was a thrill to be close enough to touch Nathaniel Anthony Ayers, The Soloist, hear him perform, and meet his sister the next morning. Steve Lopez spoke on the panel also (more to come on this experience). He recapped Mr. Ayer's progress since the time that the book and movie came out saying that he is still not on any medicine that would fix it or clear it all away. Lopez has learned to think in terms of recovery rather than cure. Recovery defined as learning about the condition and functioning with purpose.

Then the profound clincher that compelled me to borrow a pencil from my neighbor, "I like to think that the music is the medicine. The Walt Disney Hall is the hospital. And the musicians are the doctors."

Amen brother! That has been my experience too.

We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. ¹We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 2 Corinthians 4:8-10

May God himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. The one who calls you is faithful and he will do it. Brothers, pray for us. 1 Thessalonians 5:23-25

Whenever the spirit from God came upon Saul, David would take his harp and play. Then relief would come to Saul; he would feel better, and the evil spirit would leave him. 1 Samuel 16:22-23

Underdog!

I like the thoughtfulness of this article by a teacher noticing her own lifelong penchant for the underdog. I often wonder (and usually inquire) what draws people to the field of special education. Although it is my passion now, I never would have predicted it would become so central in our lives before learning that it affected us personally. One of the first questions I have always asked professionals who work with Reid is, "what led you to this kind of work?" Partly, I am vetting their motives. Their response also reveals to me how they perceive their work. Is it education or mere respite care? What expectations do they have of themselves and of Reid to progress? Also, I am just curious what makes them tick.

Often, our very favorite professionals have had a sibling with special needs or some personal relationship that motivated them to enter the field. Their desire, skill, training, competence and compassion were born out of inclusion and a personal connection.

Hiring (and keeping) tutors can be difficult. Reid has always been a "challenging case" with his potent combination of smarts and behavior. He tests everyone who has ever tried to play or work with him. This served to increase the turn over rate at our place during the home program heyday. He still has a way of demanding the best of everyone around him as well as revealing their weaknesses. For the willing, he provided a rigorous continuing ed course. He could dish out every avoidance tactic, maladaptive behavior, and sensory issue in the book in one quick 50 minute clinical hour. I am grateful to be looking back on those days.

I would lay awake at night wondering, "What makes some people better at this than others?" (And how will I find more of them?) We had an eclectic program wanting to incorporate ample amounts of Floortime with the obligatory ABA. Following a prescribed teacher/student script of discrete trial drills can be taught relatively easily to anyone. Engaging in child-centered play as Dr. Stanley Greenspan advocated was another matter. It had to be caught. I struggled with Serena Weider coaching me to undo much of what my parenting model had been. My husband, who is far less inhibited and more playful to begin with, was more natural at it.

Three standouts in our own personal autism intervention history were Danielle, Carla, and Michelle. (I hate leaving out Ben and Angela and Becky but, they came along later.) So, can you tell already that I liked people who were willing to become family and blur the boundaries of professionalism in our best interest?!@# I refer to 'the good old days" of early intervention when our team included that triad who met weekly in my living room until Jim rolled home for dinner. I never felt alone. We had each other and plenty of ideas to put into motion. They had energy and we had money! Clearly, people motivated by challenge were ideal. Reid was not a sit-in-the-chair and parrot back trials kinda kid. As one educational therapist said of him, "He is a mover and a shaker who needs someone who can move through life with him." I liked her.

Carla came into our lives through the dreaded school district. Despite that entree, she and I connected immediately with a sister-like chemistry. I will never forget her first session with Reid. It was basically love at first sight for him as a preschooler to have this young, fun bubbly woman woo him into turn-taking, playing "guys" and singing songs together. Since we both have curly hair, I used to joke that maybe it was the curly hair gene that was the magic touch we sought when interviewing tutors. Could it be the years of managing unruly curls that pre-qualified us for excellence in autism intervention? (I obviously think highly of my own contribution to the team, don't I?) Being curly girls made us flexible, open to the idiosyncratic, able to appreciate the beauty of going around and around in circles in Floortime play therapy. We found the beauty in it, not the frustration. I loved to hear Carla tell my son, "I love the way your mind works." But alas, there is more too it than the dominant curly gene. After all, Danielle had straight hair and she was a (little-s) savior to us. Now with the benefit of Strengthsfinder, I see that I was probably seeking out others with the Achiever theme that Jim and I share and brought to parenting. Carla's Communicator and Activator themes were well suited too. Did you know Woo is actually a Strengthsfinder theme? Of course, she has that one too. Whew who!! Empathy is another theme to seek out when hiring especially for non-verbal kiddos. Imagine how helpful it is to spend time with someone who knows how you feel before you do and can prompt you with a handy English phrase?

In addition to Reid's maneuvering, our attrition was due to the eligibility of the crew. In short order, they all seemed to run off to pursue doctorates, marriage, or babies. Such is life...it gave Reid invaluable practice in the less popular social greeting: goodbye.

Reid's current case manager, the nicest guy you could imagine from the midwest, had just finished the military when his wife asked him, "If you could do anything in the world what would it be?" He replied, "teach." Good for him. Good for us. I have less time with him as they are outside my house now, so I continue to ponder what seeds were planted in his life that grew into the tireless, hopeful, consistent teacher Reid enjoys this year.

Here is one more article about a teacher who switched from regular ed to special ed based on her attachment and "falling in love" with one student. It happens all the time, see Kiara Brinkman the teacher who wrote Up High In the Trees and You're Gonna Love this Kid by Paula Kluth. Maybe the common denominator in extraordinary teachers is their genuine appreciation of each unique soul God has created as individual and different from the next as each seashell, each star, and each snowflake.


"He determines the number of the stars and calls them each by name." Psalm 147:3-5


"And in the church God has appointed...teachers, then workers of miracles, also those having gifts of healing, those able to help others..." 1 Corinthians 12:27-29


Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?" And I said, "Here am I. Send me!" Isaiah 6:7-9


photo credit:www.movieweb.com

Same Kind of Different As Me

By now you know how important Angela Neve is in our life. What you may not know, is that I take piano lessons from her too. Which means, twice a year I play in the recital which she hosts for ALL her students.

It is a moving event on many levels. The students are all shapes, sizes, and skills. Some strum a rhythm on an autoharp; some sing; some memorize; some improvise. All find joy in music. All are given dignity as performers. I was in tears (and I never cry) the first year I saw Angela accompany a young woman in a solo she'd written about "Going to Seaworld." It was profound in its simplicity, honesty, and delivery. Angela has a masterful and instinctive way of honoring and empowering student musicians at every level of proficiency. Her compelling belief in the student and her undeniable joy in participating with them moves everyone as much as (and sometimes more than) the perceptible beauty of any particular piece.

At the outset, it would seem that I--a college educated, able-bodied, mother of 44--would waltz right up on stage, play my Arabesque by Burgmuller, take my bow, then take my seat. No big deal. Well, let me tell you it actually was a big deal.

As previously stated, we all have different strengths. Mine are not performing or public speaking or even music. Three years ago, another grown woman (and my soul sister, dear friend) was also on the program. Being Angela's only neurotypical adult clients (and therefore the only adults in the recital) bonded us in yet another way. It gave us opportunity to commiserate and confide in each other how truly difficult and nerve wracking it is to perform. How is it our boys want to do this? We were sweating profusely, hands trembling from nerves, and at least I was frozen on the bench unable to find middle C. "This is really embarrassing, humiliating in fact. I should be able to do this, shouldn't I? This is not a big deal." The self-talk was not helping. My daughter was mortified.

The second year was easier I must say but, I was still mindful of my choice of anti-perspirant. This year, I had enough wherewithall to analyze my own behavior. Call it functional analysis (which always takes awhile to complete). I realized two things: how the nervousness came from my selfish focus and how much I am just like the "special needs" students.

It's not about me. This is a commonly required reminder right now in our culture. I am hearing it from our pulpit at church, from the podium at Allie's graduation, and from my Beth Moore study. It's not new though. Isn't it the tag line from Rick Warren's Purpose Driven Life? What kept me from being a total mess was the fact (or just my perception) that Reid needed a bit of support from me. So, his needs and my maternal instinct saved me from total self absorption. Giving (or better yet, self sacrifice) is actually the antidote for so many modern ailments from depression to anxiety to loneliness.

The other truth is: I was just the same as any of the young kids who sidled up onto that stage and plunked out their pieces before the adoring crowd of family and friends. I love music enough to want to produce some on my own. I can read music but am nowhere near prodigy material. I practice almost every day, especially the day before Angela comes. I feel more motivated to improve when I know a recital is on the calendar. I hope I won't flub up (like last year). I wonder what people think while I'm playing. I worry that I'll blank out and not recognize middle C (again). I enjoy the attention of my husband taking a photo from the front aisle. I feel proud when it's all over. I sigh a deep breath and smile when I hear the applause.

Whether 8 with autism or 43 without, we are so human! We are all growing in grace, poise, ability and self awareness.

I recall a phrase from somewhere in my continuing education as an autism mom that, "kids with autism are more like others than they are different from others." Never was that more obvious than when I waited my turn in the recital lineup.

Off topic, but a fabulous read is the book whose title I lifted for this post. Same Kind of Different As Me is the gripping story of an unlikely friendship between an affluent art dealer and a homeless black man. They could never have predicted how interwoven their lives became. If you have time for another summer read, I recommend it. It is another illustration of how universally human--and alike--we are down deep.

The Lord does not look at the things man looks at. Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7



We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him (Jesus) the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:5-7



Your attitude should be the same as that of Christ Jesus: Who, being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness. Philippians 2:5-7

photo credits: www.pianofield.com, sandis-stickers.com

Alive in Christ

OK, here goes. I have waited a week to post about Reid's baptism for several reasons. One is pure exhaustion from being overwhelmed by it all. I also hesitate in fear that I will be unable to retell the magnificence of the day. I don't want to trap the spiritual splendor in words on a page or in my feeble recollection. I have been silent for a week even from writing thank you's to those who made it so sacred in an effort to sustain the reverence and (if I am honest) out of speechlessness. Have you ever had an experience that was so sublime you wanted to keep it to yourself lest the reactions of others deny its reality?

The man without the Spirit does not accept the things that come from the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him, and he cannot understand them, because they are spiritually discerned. 1 Corinthians 2:13-15

However, I wouldn't be a very good blogger or a very good witness if I don't "go tell it on the mountain!" Even if I don't "joyfully praise God for the miracles I've seen...then the stones will cry out!" Luke 19:39-40 It was truly glorious! Just know, whatever I say pales in comparison and you really did have to be there to experience the palpable glory of the Lord. I feel like Mary when she "treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart." Luke 2:18-20

First of all, nobody stripped naked (did you read the "before" post?). What impressed me most was Reid's total engagement and appropriateness. These are lifelong goals for us which seemed for one sitting to be suspended in accomplishment. Granted, Reid loves a program and was prepared for how this would go. But somehow it was more than just a "good day" as measured by compliance, engagement, and behavioral goals.

There were guests from Reid's sphere who had no idea of his functioning. Whether they hadn't seen him lately or they've only seen him glued to the television set in the church library, Saturday was eye-opening. Some were in tears. Some were flabbergasted at his ability. Others who've been in the trenches with us and spent hours of time interacting with him and seen the glimmers of skill and development over time were not amazed at any one skill but at how they all coalesced like jello hardening into one grand presentation.

One of the 30 some eyewitness guests said to me, "Wow, Reid really 'gets' this." As his statement of faith Reid wrote a song with his music teacher, Angela Neve. The song served as testimony and sermon all in one. There was no mistaking his comprehension. What struck me was how obviously Reid's ability was displayed throughout the day. He demonstrated ability to sing, ability to lead a group, ability to grasp fundamental truths, ability to greet each guest and express gratitude for their presence, ability to share his faith, ability to take a break in the Eurovan with new gifts, ability to change into dry clothes we'd left in the van, and shocking ability to return to the party for more photo ops, ability to transition back into the Saturday routine with Dad once the party was over, ability to delay gratification and go to library after clean up, ability to help us set up and unload the van, huge ability to submit himself physically to be dunked backwards into waves, ability to regulate all the sensory and tactile input, ability to ask a guest if her husband was with her, ability to be a blessing to others, ability to have a ministry, ability to chose his own destiny for eternity.

Depending on how long you have known Reid or what other firsthand experience you have with autism, that may seem like a simple list. To put it into drastic context, this is the same kid who was basically evicted from special ed class as a danger to other students just 4 years ago. This is the same kid who streaked naked toward the intersection of Executive Drive and Genessee Ave. from a pool locker room just 8 years ago. This is the same kid who is obsessed with doing things himself and only let me hold his hand once as a toddler. Are you getting why I'm speechless?

Let me be clear; this isn't a sensationalized story promoting any of the myriad interventions that you could run to pay big bucks and afford for another child on the spectrum. It is not an infomercial for secretin, AIT, The Listening Program, music therapy, hyperbaric oxygen chamber, megavitamins, homeopathy, osteopathy, chelation, GFCF diet, DAN! protocol, Brain Highways, Floortime, PRT, ABA, or swimming with dolphins--although we have done most of those. Rather, our success story is first and foremost a testimony of what God has done in our midst. Ours is a story of staying the course, marinading in prayer, and the cumulative gain of multiple people pouring their gifts and love into a boy who is truly "growing in wisdom and favor and stature with God and man."Luke 2:52

Fourteen years ago when we were hoping to adopt we put this verse at the bottom of our solicitation letter. Ephesians 3:19-21 says, "Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine...to him be glory...forever and ever." That verse has followed us and becomes more prophetic as we go. It rang true when we adopted not one but two babies. It continues to resonate as we move through autism. Ironically, the song which came to me in writing this seems drawn from that verse too. Terry Clark recorded it and it sums up my take home truth from the Reid's baptism. He is Able.

We have ability because God is able. We are creative because He is the Creator. We are loving because He is love. We are truthful because He is the Truth. We are made in God's image however weakly we pale in comparison. Any among us gains functioning when we are in His presence, when we abide in Him, when move in His Spirit. I saw that happen dramatically for Reid on Saturday and I've seen it happen gradually over the course of 14 years.

If you have a child with special needs, I challenge you to make a list of your child's abilities. You'll amaze yourself....and it will increase your faith. "Oh ye of little faith" was all I could think when I first sat down to write about the baptism. That verse is repeated by Jesus four times in Matthew. Usually, it is after a miracle God performed--multiplying loaves, walking on water, and then calming the storm. It is the phrase to use when amazed anew at God's power over the earth, the elements, the circumstances of our lives and our hearts. How fitting. I cannot believe what God has done in Reid's life....and is continuing to do.

"But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which is alive today and tomorrow is thrown into the furnace, will He not much more clothe you? You of little faith! Matthew 6:29-31

He said to them, "Why are you afraid, you men of little faith?" Then He got up and rebuked the winds and the sea, and it became perfectly calm. Matthew 8:25-27

Immediately Jesus stretched out His hand and took hold of him, and said to him, " You of little faith, why did you doubt?" Matthew 14:30-32

But Jesus, aware of this, said, " You men of little faith, why do you discuss among yourselves that you have no bread? Matthew 16:7-9

photo credits: Doug Miller, Carla Wood

Another gig

"Mom, just get me to the stage!" Reid implored as we anxiously unloaded the van for one of his first gigs a couple years ago. There was a volume of between-the-lines information conveyed in that one little sentence. An empathetic, trained, engaged mom could fill in the paragraph of meaning in those seven simple words:

Mom, I can't do this alone.  I need your help.  I can sing.  I practiced. I know all the words I'm supposed to sing.  I love to perform. I can't wait for the thrill I feel when the people clap.  Will the people cheer? When I get on the stage and the band kicks in, I know I'll be fine but right now, I'm not sure if I can manage the sensory input that I know lies between this already over-stimulating parking structure which smells of carbon monoxide and the plaza we just drove by where Angela and the In Harmony band are expecting me.  But I've seen you do it.  And I trust you.  Will you get me past that gigantic, flagship Tower Records mega-store on the corner through the throngs of noonday workers and passersby at Horton Plaza to the stage they've set up for the NBC Health Fair? They're counting on me and I'm ready!

Well, he did do it!  Reid was the guest vocalist performing some of the songs on the In Harmony Integrated Learning Resource book and CD.  Our personal favorites, "I'm OK When Things Don't Go My Way" and "I'm Listening to What My Body Says" are ones he'd cut his teeth on over the years with Angela Neve as his music therapist. As Reid morphs into a teenager, Angela continues to gift us with her Developer and Futurist strengths (see yesterday's post). It is amazing to watch the sense of purpose and accomplishment which result from performing.  

  

He's come a long way, baby!  Last month, The Kingsmen Band, of which Reid is a member, had a gig at the Manchester Grand Hyatt in San Diego. The Autism Tree Project filmed their rehearsal session to be shown that evening at the 5th Anniversary "Rock The Lights Out for Autism"benefit gala.  The boys in the band impressed us as we gathered in the opulent lobby and then roamed around to multiple meeting rooms lugging sound equipment while the crew considered the best possible filming location. We experienced moms (with years of stored memories of breakdown, meltdown, and fall out) suggested the cameraman scout it out and get back to us. "These guys don't transition well.  You're going to lose them (mentally and maybe physically too). Do you know change is rough when...," we cautioned. 

Finally, we landed in a vacant ballroom atrium in a different wing of the property. Despite our collective wisdom and fear from hindsight, the boys in the band cooperated with even the unreasonable requests that were made of them.  All in the name of show biz! It was a testament to their motivation to perform, growth in character, ability to delay gratification, flexibility, responsibility to a team, and sense of purpose.  That's why we're doing it!  All good stuff.

Here is a portion of what was shown that night.  Reid is the one giving the unsolicited rave endorsement of The Music Therapy Center of California. That part was not rehearsed or planned.  It is straight from his heart and ironically, might be the best part!

They edited out an equally charming interview with Charlie:

TJ, the cameraman:  Where else do you guys play?  Do you hire out for parties?

Charlie: Ohhh NO.  We don't do parties.  Parties are very loud and too crowded.

Did I mention the film crew had no specific training in autism or speech therapy? Charlie displayed awesome self-advocating skills and honesty. He was gracious and polite to omit what I would have said, "One question at a time please, sir."

Be sure to catch their next gig at Border's Bookstore in Mission Valley Tuesday, June 17 at 7:00pm.

photo credits: photos.lguogo.com

Music: Let it Move You

Don't get me started on music therapy!  I should probably start a mega-theme or Music Monday column to cover the volumes of thoughts I have related to the power of music to transform our lives.  

Apparently, I am not the only one.  Have you seen the movie, Young at Heart?  Although the movie doesn't focus on him I wonder many things about Bob Cilman, the leader of this choral group of seniors: What did he do previously?  How did his passion for music connect with an interest in seniors? Does he know he is doing music therapy? What are his natural instincts and strengths?  No doubt he is a Developer on the StrengthsFinder inventory by Tom Rath like Reid's music therapist par excellence, Angela Neve. I also wonder why there aren't similar groups in every single nursing home--especially my Nana's in Ohio--to appropriate the vitality and sense of purpose that singing together and preparing to perform brings these seniors who are simultaneously vibrant and dying.  

Seniors singing together is a relatively simple concept.  (Maybe most good ideas are simple--once they're thought of!)  The further genius of the project though is their repertoire of songs.  Cilman has this geriatric choir doing Sonic Youth, Beatles, Ramones, and James Brown covers!  They don't particularly like the songs.  I don't really either;  except when they take on new life sung from an unexpected vantage point.  With years of life experience and the wisdom of age, the seniors give new meaning to these lyrics.  When Fred croons "Fix Me" as a memorial to his dear friend it means more than Coldplay ever imagined.  This juxtaposition is what makes the film profound.  (Then again maybe I am selling Coldplay.  A similar thing happened when Reid sang "Scientist"  last fall.)

Young at Heart is inspirational on many levels and for all ages.  It depicts mutual trust between director and choir.  It's novelty makes us laugh, not at the unusual, but in acknowledgment and recognition.  It models the importance of mental flexibility and teachability.  The film captures the therapeutic magic of music.  

Also irresistible is the empowerment of a group of people who are otherwise dismissed from our society.  Like those with autism and other disabilities, many seniors can feel isolated, forgotten, neglected by the end of their lives.  Young at Heart demonstrates another truth; they in fact, have untapped potential and loads to offer--not just on the sidelines but in commercial venues at the forefront of our culture! 

But God chose the foolish things of the world to shame the wise; God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.  1 Corinthians 1:27

'Rise in the presence of the aged, show respect for the elderly and revere your God. I am the LORD.  Leviticus 19:32

As they make music they will sing, "All my fountains are in you." Psalms 87:7