Safe!

For the LORD is our judge, the LORD is our lawgiver, the LORD is our king; it is He who will save us. Isaiah 33:22

American Idol is on tonight! In addition to entertainment and joint focus for our family, it provides an apt illustration of this Scripture. Reid predicted Scotty McCreery as last year's winner and this year we're rooting for Joshua.

At first glance I did not link those 3 titles--judge, lawgiver, and king--with the concept of saving. Condemnation comes to mind before rescue. Certainly the three outline our judicial system and represent a triune God. But then I recalled how the American Idol judges graphically illustrate "the save." One save per season. Last year it was especially dramatic with Casey (click to view). We sit on pins and needles, braving the commercials, sweating each of Ryan Seacrest's fakes to see who will be cut each week. And then whether the judges will use their one save of the season or not.

The Bible is clear about God being judge. That's a relief! I don't have to concern myself with doling out criticism or seeing all sides of an issue. It's also clear on how to be saved.

Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" They said, “Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household.” Acts 16:30-31

I feel for those American Idol contestants under the immense pressure of rejection. As each one gets cut, I pray they remember the difference between the judges and the Judge. It's easy to misplace our fear of the Lord. We will be inevitably defeated by the fear of man.

Not to put autism completely aside, we idolized our home program case manager. She was a godsend when Reid was 5 yrs. old. Her passion was to support families, especially moms in the early diagnosis stage. She was gifted at setting up a program, staffing, training, listening and walking alongside those in the midst of the initial panic and information gathering that marks that phase. I don't know how she put up with me--on the phone or my doorstep ranting and neurosing for hours on end.

She shared with me once that as much as she loved it, there was a pitfall. Emotionally desperate moms (myself included) tended to set her up as a "savior." She arrived on the scene with answers and seemed able to save their child from certain demise. This was a danger for her, since she knew that was not true. And also for them, since she was not omniscient, omnipotent, nor Savior. She could help, but she could not save even one of them.

Having made this mistake in degrees with others after her, I have finally learned that no therapist, drug, diet, or intervention can save Reid. God, the God who designed our sense of smell, heals sensory integration disorder. God, the one who knows our every thought, knows the mind of a even the nonverbal child with autism. No expert, no matter how expensive or experienced, can direct us as well as God can through His Holy Spirit. Don't give them the power that is God's alone, to save....from autism or any other human condition, including death itself.

The insanely good news is that Jesus has more than one save per season!! He came to save us all.

‘Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.' Acts 2:20-22

Correlated with Children of Destiny's Turning the Tide! Prayer calendar for April.

All God's Children

If you've never been in a room full of kids with disabilities, you haven't lived!

That wish may not be at the top your bucket list but, trust me if you ever get the chance it will tip your whole bucket upside down. Add music, worship or performance to that room and you approach an other-worldly experience that quickly becomes spiritual.

There is nothing quite so humbling or profound as watching people express themselves creatively without inhibition. I have had this experience a handful of times: at a Music Therapy Center recital, at Beyond Limits adult Sunday school class, and at the Young Life Capernaum Club Talent Show last June. Take a peek at what our friend Sean Horton captured on film.

Capernaum Talent Show from Sean Horton on Vimeo.

My experience must only begin to approach God's delight at watching us, his children--all of us differently-abled--using the gifts He gave us freely without comparison or ego or pride to adulterate them. It's pure and true to a liberating extent.

"Looks aren't everything. Don't be impressed with his looks and stature. God judges persons differently than humans do. Men and women look at the face; God looks into the heart." 1 Samuel 16:6-8

“To one he gave five bags of gold, to another two bags, and to another one bag, each according to his ability. Then he went on his journey." Matthew 25:14-15

Photo credit: Bill Wilson

P.S. You're invited to visit a Capernaum Club every other Thursday night at 6:30 at Flood church offices on Ruffin Road in San Diego.

Always laughing?

Having a sense of humor is:

a. valuable

b. preferable

c. mandatory

d. all of the above

Standing at the sink, I made statement "a" like an opening bid then raised it to "b" before Jim added "c" and the correct answer "d."

In progressive waves, we have realized this truth. Was a time, we could not laugh. At the mere suggestion we'd make the cynical retort, "It's that or cry." Worse yet, "shut up, it is not funny!" which I think I actually said to my mom when she suggested, "it helps to have a sense of humor about it, don't you think?"

"It" being the precarious predicaments Reid gets himself (and us) into or our inability to control him. At the time, it may have been climbing into a recycling bin or cutting to the front of an ice cream line unabashedly.

Another time, a college buddy of ours came to visit with his family of four from Ohio. We hadn't seen them in years nor met each other's kids. The hallmark of this guy (and his wife coincidentally enough) has always been his sense of humor. On and on the stories go, of spring break trips when he used cream cheese to soothe his sunburned face since Noxema was unavailable. Or numerous one-liners he's coined which live on in our collective family lexicon but make no sense cause "you had to be there" for his Chaplin-esque delivery.

Leave it to them to identify the humor in our family dynamic. It was his wife who said, "So are you just laughing all the time?" For that was their experience of a day with Reid. What a funny, entertaining household must be created by his antics. Hahahaha...the possibility gave me pause. When had amusing become annoying and how could we go back?

Yesterday, for whatever cumulation of reasons, Jim and I were genuinely, simultaneously, heartily both belly laughing with Reid (not at him which is a key distinction) in public! It felt like a milestone of joy replacing grief. Reid's exuberant joy superceded any vestige of anger and fear we used to hold.

On the way home from the beach we had stopped for the ritual Roberto's burrito. Often we get it togo. Tonight Kool and the Gang was wafting through the outdoor patio seating area which drew Reid out like a magnet. While Jim ordered at the window, Reid was in plain view. I saw him approach a solitary male diner but could not hear what he said. The man bemusedly looked around for a parent or some explanation. I laid low in the car in my barefeet and modest cover up. He hadn't done enough to require my intervention.

Then began a series of dance moves in between the two-top tables. Starting with a little step ball change, he transitioned to the Snook torso twist, the Linus and Lucy dance, then what looked like the Elmo slide from my vantage point. The sequence brought unavoidable chuckles from a neighboring table of 2 men.

Jim rounded the corner of the building, grinned at his dancing fool and offered his own woot woot and Latin hip movement to the party. To which Reid shouted, "let's get Mom!" "Let's all dance....come on mom get outta the car."

I tried to duck, hide behind my hand, and lower my gaze but the entire town had eyeballed me by the time Reid got to the driver's side car door. He opened it and tried to pull me out across the front console. I had to go now. The last time this happened I was in a wedding dress back-paddling out of the mosh pit Jim's (they-don't-call-him-Gumby-for-nothing) relatives had formed at our wedding. I've changed since then. For this time I raised my hand above my head and busted out my best John Travolta Sunday Night Fever move as I came around the car.

So much for take out. We sat there groovin' and movin' enjoying how contagious joy can be...and grateful we'd caught it!

Dancing with Mal

I just finished Emily Colson's book, Dancing with Max. It is a terrific read disclosing her journey getting to know both her dad and her son all at once. Her faith and immense love--themselves gifts from God--are central themes enabling her to appreciate that her son with autism is a gift. Her masterful writing and disarming humor refresh the familiar story line of diagnosis to acceptance. I could particularly relate (as in, laugh outloud) to this excerpt:

Max had an appointment with a doctor who specialized in integrative medicine. He wasn't one of those crystal-worshiping, incense-burning practitioners, but a rather sophisticated doctor utilizing both alternative and conventional practices... He needed Max's treatment history, and of course, in the process, he would realize I was not neglectful crackhead parent, but a serious overachiever-type mom. The cross hanging around my neck would speak of my faith, my commitment, my clean lifestyle. I even found a way to tell him that I'd spoken at several area conferences, just in case he might need such a service. All those years as a graphic designer creating corporate identities taught me the power of communicating the right image. I pictured this doctor eventually inviting us into his home, telling me secret cures for autism, while he stood at his kitchen counter mixing Chinese mushroom powder into wheat grass. And he would realize that helping Max, the innocent child of a loving Christian and by-no-possible-fault-of-her-own single mother, was his life's mission.

"Does he have any language?" the doctor asked as Max sat silently outside the door.

"Oh, yes. It doesn't come easily, but he uses full sentences now," I answered.

He fired off a list of questions about sleep habits, diet, digestion, but kept coming back to the issue of language. "You said he does speak, is that correct? He's right outside my office door, and . . . I don't think I've heard him say anything."

"Yes, he's just very anxious here," I explained as if we were colleagues.

Our appointment was nearing an end, and I was pleased at the doctor's willingness to order numerous laboratory tests. "Could your son come in so that I could talk with him a bit? Would

he do that?" he asked.

"Maybe," I answered. "Max," I called as I looked into the hall. "Can you come sit with Mommy for a minute? Then we'll be all done and do something fun." Max stood up as if he always followed my requests and entered the examination room. The doctor greeted him, but Max brushed past his desk and stood silently at the window gazing out over the Cambridge neighborhood. "Good job Max," I proudly commended. "We're going to do something fun next."

And then it happened. My son must have a locator device implanted in his brain, because it only took him two seconds to see into a storefront window on the street below that obviously had commercial refrigerators. And with that motivation, my son spoke his first, and what would be his only, words for the doctor to hear.

"Mom, after this we can go to the liquor store."

Delighted at the prospect, Max walked out and sat beside my mother, who looks as much like an alcoholic as Mary Poppins.

The doctor's eyes shone on me like headlights. I was so busy being perfect that I forgot to laugh. The more I tried to explain, the worse it looked; he wasn't buying the whole refrigerator-obsession thing.

She has been there! I have been there. She has been where I have been! Thank you Lord that you do whatever it takes to free us from a spirit of pride.

It happens bit by bit--like becoming real. Reid, like Max, has taught his mom many things, not the least of which is to recognize embarrassment as the indicator light of pride. Having a son with absolutely no social inhibition continues to set me free from a fear of man.

Allie too. Just last week, she recalled sitting in a theater dying a thousand deaths because her brother was "so embarrassing." "What was he doing?" I'd forgotten. "Being overly happy," was her description. Is that such a crime? It's exactly what he does though. He expresses uncontainable joy so much so that it's socially unacceptable.

Even when he was a toddler, I found it hard to correct him for being too gleeful during library storytime, too excited to meet Mary Poppins at Disneyland, or euphoric when Souplantation had Barney bean salad (our term, not theirs) in the buffet smorgasbord. Gradually (unable to control or contain it), I've come to realize that it is more my problem than his. He embodies joy. That is a gift to those who receive it. And if it bothers someone on the way, that is their problem.

Now only a vestige of my pride remains. I recognize it in this clip of Reid cutting loose at a recent Banding Together coffeehouse concert. He's the one--the only one--on the dance floor doing aerial 360's. I am one feigning nonchalance in the black and white raincoat. Who's the woman dancing with him unabashedly? That is Malvina. Thank you Lord for friends who have more love than pride . . . who dole it out liberally all over everybody . . . who don't squelch his exuberance. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Gladness and joy will overtake them, and sorrow and sighing will flee away. Isaiah 35:9-10

The LORD is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him. Psalm 28:6-8

Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins. 1 Peter 4:7-9

Serendipitous Victory

Some nights it just all comes together! (like it was planned in advance)

Last Saturday was the third in a series of six Youth Helping Youth concerts to raise money for Banding Together, a nonprofit with a mission is to provide music therapy scholarships and mentorships to kids with special needs. The Kingsmen have been the de facto poster band for Banding Together since it began. Certainly, they epitomize the mission. They are no longer alone, however. This once-a-month opportunity has attracted interest from other local high school bands who love applause just as much. And two new special needs bands are forming.

The Pacific Ridge School Rock Jazz Ensemble, Vast Zephyr, Dirty Gold, The Third Edition and North Coast Singers Capella group are also getting in on the action, performing to share their passion for music and raise money for kids with special needs who wouldn't otherwise be able to afford music therapy. They know firsthand the power music has to motivate.

Unbenownst to me, a professional videographer in the audience offered up his gifts in the moment to capture the evening and the cause on film. Thank you Sean Horton! Reid got roped into the interview since I'm the last to leave. I don't think he minded, do you?

What do you see? More than money raised, the quality of the actual performance, or number in attendance, I see joyful happy moms who once feared letting their boys play in public. I see an inclusive community of all ages. I see respect for differences. I see admiration. I see innate leadership skills in kids who are marginalized in other contexts. I see joy. I see freedom that comes through the power of music. I see full engagement. I see proud fathers in attendance. I see peace. I see the Kingdom.

David told the leaders of the Levites to appoint their fellow Levites as musicians to make a joyful sound with musical instruments: lyres, harps and cymbals. 1 Chronicles 15:15-17

Applaud God, all people! His love has taken over our lives; God's faithful ways are eternal. Hallelujah! Psalm 117:1-2 The Message

your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Matthew 6:9-11

February Podcast: Paula Dawson

Paula is a woman who gives real meaning to the word, sweet. She is kind to the marrow.

Here's a glimpse of her last Friday winning a night out at a happening local nightclub. (who knew?) Spending time with Paula makes me feel like the lucky winner.

On Monday nights, she is found fully engaged in the waiting room at the Music Therapy Center of California. Our own permutation of a support group has resulted from our boys being in The Kingsmen band together. While they rehearse, we (four moms and grandma) talk. It's a sacred time. Paula listens and speaks with style, grace and humor. Never flustered, quick to laugh, always willing to help, Paula is a balm in Gilead.

I consider her an inspiration to the autism community. Last night she was gracious enough to let me ask her a couple questions while recording:

Click Autism Unplugged Paula Dawson.mp3 or the play button below.

I always wanted to do a photo montage of Conor in the famous Fantasia pose we mentioned. His bravado thrills me at every performance.

A Good Trade

He shot off the school bus forcing back tears. Running straight to his room, shutting the door he began an intense conversation with himself. "Mom, stay out I need privacy," may have been shown more clearly than it was said. I kept a distance while he brought a half dozen reusable shopping bags from the garage and filled them with the VCR tapes that line his desk. The self-talk was emotional and heart wrenching:

"Please don't take them away."

"You don't need those anymore."

"You can do it Reid. Just give me a bag."

"Allie I'm so sorry I've wasted your time." sobbing

"Will you forgive me?"

I sat on the stairs interceding, texting my prayer partner, and absorbing the significance of this cathartic scene. It was painful to sit and watch yet, promising. Wondering what had gone down at school that day, I was sure this must be a step in the progressive breakthrough we've been asking for. Victory is coming over the addictions and obsessions Reid battles. I knew for sure I hadn't prompted the video removal this time. It was entirely spontaneous and self-initiated.

As his tears and intensity subsided, I noticed the approaching dinner hour. In the drama, it completely slipped my mind that Tobias, Area Director of our newly launched Young Life Capernaum ministry, was coming at 5:00pm to hang out for their long anticipated "contact" time. Oh boy:/ Finally, now?! How would this possibly play out?

I spared Tobias the blow by blow and began the old spiel I give every first time caregiver and respite worker. Reciting the steps to structured success and doling out $5 for the ritual trip to Roberto's, I paused. Wait! The Spirit prompting me now, Let this be a new leaf. Let me show you the new thing I am doing.

I backed off, "I'll be upstairs if you need me, do whatever you want." Leaving them in the family room with the tv still on, I returned to my prayer stair. Before I knew it my tears started to flow.

Not only did Reid turn off the tv (an unheard of action usually requiring at least 10 minutes of negotiation and transition), but he promptly took the chord charts from Tobias' binder and broke into the purest form of worship this side of the pearly gates.

They continued for an hour through praise song after praise song about God's love. He Knows my Name...How He Loves Us...Mighty to Save...

Like a natural born worship leader, Reid called out lyrics to an invisible audience. Side by side they brought down the presence of the Lord to inhabit the praises of His people.

Those songs of deliverance perfectly timed, were the antidote to Reid's traumatic day, the encouragement of things to come, a replacement for what he laid down, and salve on the wounds of loss represented in those four shopping bags of dvd's.

All I could think of was how that day, that appointment--unbeknownsdt to us--had been ordained long before in order to answer our call for help and give him something better in return for the idols he was casting down.

Relating easily now, he and Tobias made a plan to sing every other Thursday leading others in worship. For such a time as this, Capernaum is in San Diego....and not just for Reid.

The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. We demolish arguments and every pretension that sets itself up against the knowledge of God, and we take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ. 2 Corinthians 10:5

For if you remain silent at this time, relief and deliverance for the Jews will arise from another place, but you and your father’s family will perish. And who knows but that you have come to your royal position for such a time as this?” Esther 4:13-15

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me...to bestow on them a crown of beauty
instead of ashes,
the oil of joy
instead of mourning,
and a garment of praise
instead of a spirit of despair. Isaiah 61

Lifelong

That word "lifelong" looms as an ominous cloud over the classical definition of autism. Whether you read it on a book cover, hear it from a doctor, or google search it, it's superlative and so final.

Here's one:

Autism is a complex, life long developmental disability that interferes with the person's ability to understand what he sees, hears and touches.

and another:

Autism is a lifelong disability affecting nearly 1 in 250 children

born in the world today. With the diagnosis of autism reaching

epidemic proportions, it is important that accurate information is made

available to anyone who will be working with, living with, or loving a

person with autism.

Lately (and remember I'm 14 years post-diagnosis), it's hit me thus: Who among us doesn't have a lifelong condition? Whether you call it sin or humanity, we all have it. It's not going away this side of heaven.

We all grapple with some resonant theme for the course of a lifetime. Some get help, make significant progress, experience breakthrough, accomplish amazing milestones, others remain stuck. We may make great strides for a season, even appear "recovered" for periods of time, but then slip back, fall off the wagon and feel hopeless. Two steps forward, one step back. It's universal--with or without an autism diagnosis.

Whether we tend toward pride, rejection, greed, anger, selfishness, fear, we each have our hot buttons. There are interventions available to help us in the natural world. Spiritual gains are there too. The Lord may reveal a verse that helps us through a time; accountability partners give us a leg up for a season; we enjoy success, even deliverance for years of time. But we remain: human, sinful, incomplete.

Personalize it. What prayer do you pray each Sunday in church? Have you become a broken record asking God for grace in the same area? I have confessions and recommittals that are recurrent, if I'm honest. They are lifelong issues related to my unique temperament, circumstances and alas, even God's purpose in my life.

And so, we work out our salvation... Life...Long...until that day we are complete in Christ.

Until then, you might say we're all learning how to die...to self, to sin, to _____.

Jon Foreman sings it best:

The revelation of God is whole and pulls our lives together. The signposts of God are clear and point out the right road. The life-maps of God are right, showing the way to joy. God's reputation is twenty-four-carat gold, with a lifetime guarantee. Psalm 19:6-8 The Message

For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain. Philippians 1:20-22

Therefore, my dear friends...continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling... Philippians 2:11-13

Sing a New Song

I am the LORD, the God of all mankind. Is anything too hard for me? Jeremiah 32:26-28

He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the LORD and put their trust in him. Psalm 40:2-4

Almost every Sunday morning as we coast the 2 miles downhill to church (coffee or smoothie in hand), Reid breaks spontaneously into a praise song. (His memory for lyrics is astounding, not to mention the artist who's recorded it and what track it is on which of their albums.)

Eight times out of 10, the song Reid picks en route ends up being on the church bulletin that very Sunday! It's uncanny. This didn't dawn on me at first but, it has happened enough now that I am quite sure of the correlation. (All of us learn through repetition.)

Last week, he and I drove alone so instead of the usual foursome belting out the prophetic pre-worship selection, I was able to ask him, "Reid, how do you think of what song to sing in the car?"

After the usual pregnant pause I offered, "Does the Lord tell you which song?"

Immediately, "Yes the Lord gives it to me."

Is anything too hard for the Lord? Even if we struggle to communicate with ones profoundly language delayed, the God who made us all in His image, has a way.

As Hans Christian Andersen said, when words fail, music speaks. Music is the language of the soul, as another blogger points out.

Karen Kingsbury's fictional book, Unlocked, gave me much food for thought. She portrays Holden, a teenager with autism, with a close friends who unlocks his potential as well as the meaning behind some of his self stims. When he rocks, he is interceding for classmates.

I wonder if we gave our guys more credit for having spiritual gifts and disciplines, if they would grow into maturity?

Might we too, as they teach us in the process?

Stronghold

Do you have theme words in your life? Like a recurrent dream, the word "stronghold" shows up often for me.

First time, I really didn't know what it meant. However, when someone uses that kinda word in prayer over your infant children, you look it up.

Definition of STRONGHOLD

1

: a fortified place

2

a : a place of security or survival b : a place dominated by a particular group or marked by a particular characteristic

Initially, it seemed like some construct the enemy built to bog you down. A stronghold that enemy troops might have over an area.

Over the years through various Bible studies, I have learned that the Lord has strongholds of His own. Way more than the enemy.

Lately, I am learning that the Lord is a stronghold to whom we'd be wise to run to at lightning pace when we want protection. It is a safe refuge where we can be still and watch Him fight for us.

Currently, I am reading The Stronghold of God by Francis Frangipane and we completed this puzzle over Christmas. Oh how I love a good Unit Study with kinesthetic teaching!

Just today as I was walking with my Chris Rice, Peace Like a River cd, this stanza of grabbed me by the ears perhaps since I have tried so long in vain to save my son in my own strength:

Did we in our own strength confide,   

our striving would be losing,   

were not the right man on our side,   

the man of God's own choosing.  

Dost ask who that may be?    

Christ Jesus, it is he;   

Lord Sabaoth, his name,   

from age to age the same,   

and he must win the battle.

Sure enough, as I checked the title...it's "A Mighty Fortress is Our God!" Synonym for stronghold.... "fortress." I love that God loves words.

Although we pridefully refer to autism as a new diagnosis and ourselves as pioneering crusaders in the fight against it, autism is not puzzling to God. Jesus is our Savior and Deliverer from every foe and has been since Martin Luther wrote this in the 1528. He describes the same outcome we seek today when we feel socked in by defeat, fatigue, insurmountable opposition, and unlikely odds. I am enjoying the truth this song proclaims and the instructions of all four stanzas of the lyrics. They deserve a modern rewrite by Eugene Petersen.

The Lord has been Mighty in battle since long before Luther, in the days of Moses, Aaron, and Joshua. Our God is the same, the Holy Spirit the same, our victory comes in Jesus. Only the name of the enemy seems to have changed. Why reinvent the wheel?

I'll include this video too since Chris Rice's is not on YouTube. Here is Christy Nockels of Watermark singing, "You are My Stronghold."

I told you it was a theme. Do you have one?

The LORD is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer; my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge, my shield and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold. Psalm 18:1-3

God is a safe place to hide, ready to help when we need him. We stand fearless at the cliff-edge of doom, courageous in seastorm and earthquake...Jacob-wrestling God fights for us, God-of-Angel-Armies protects us. Psalm 46:1-3 The Message

The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds. 2 Corinthians 10:3-5

Black is Back

If you don't already love Jack Black, here's another reason. He is one of a dozen celebrities participating in the Fly Into Autism benefit CD recording for Elaine Hall's Miracle Project in LA.

He cracks me up! I don't know who is cuter saying, "Dudes," him or Beth Moore. Victory comes in small steps, cramped sound rooms....and oh so often through music.

Sing, Sing a Song, make it anything

Scene from Elf:

Scene at our House:

Mom (from bottom of stairs in a sing song voice): "Good morning, good morning, good morning; it's time to wake up; it's the last day of school before break; it's your day to swim at the Plunge; it's time for breakfast so you don't miss the bus..."

Reid (from upstairs on his feet, entering bathroom): "Stop singing Mom."

The good news: Music motivates. He got up.

The bad news: I do not have a hit single on my hands.

On Earth as it is...

Need a summer movie rental (for mature audience)? As It Is In Heaven, a Swedish film nominated for Best Foreign Film Hollywood Awards available from Netflix, is incredibly thought provoking. It is a compelling story about how to really love your neighbors. It is also a testament to the power of music to transform a entire community. And how can you speak about love without inclusion!

Tore is a young man experiencing developmental disability in the film. Some in the community call him a "cuckoo" others accept, comfort, shepherd, even learn from him. The filmmakers realistically depict the interdependence model Kathie Snow extrapolates here in her Disability Is Natural newsletter. As God would have it here on earth, Tore is not the only one with special needs who needs a little help now and then.

Despite his innocence, he is wise to tension often sensing what others miss or ignore. This closing scene is meant to intrigue not to spoil. (If you want the preview instead click here.) As the town choir takes the stage at a choral competition without their conductor, Tore takes an unplanned leadership role. The result weaves together several threads of the movie.

Life is not about being able. It is not about achievement. It is not about winning. Redemption is messy and beautiful. It requires vulnerability and courage. In some measure, both require finding your own voice and joining a chorus of others.

God has a will and a purpose in each of our lives. The conductor in the movie states his calling early in life: to open people's hearts with music. A tutor of Reid's asked me recently, "What is yours?" I hemmed and hawed awkwardly, having just met her after all. "Go ahead," she urged, "there's no one listening, just you and me, what is it?"

She was unrelenting as I stuttered in embarrassment and false pride. I choked out what was pounding in my chest but had never been articulated: to convince people that there is always hope. I was grateful for her insistence last night as Reid and I lounged in the hot tub. Out of the blue he blurted, "Mom, what's your destiny?" I had an answer!

When I turned the question on him he shot back, "to sing."

What's yours?

This, then, is how you should pray:

"Our Father in heaven, hallowed be your name,

your kingdom come, your will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us today our daily bread.

Forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.

And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from the evil one.

For if you forgive men when they sin against you,

your heavenly Father will also forgive you.

But if you do not forgive men their sins,

your Father will not forgive your sins." Matthew 6

Any Readers in NYC?

Did I tell you about the NYU film student, Michelle Delateur, who found The Kingsmen on Myspace? I think not...so behind. In any case, she came, she filmed, she edited...and Rockism, the documentary featuring Reid's band, is ready.

The screening will be January 29th at 11:00am on the NYU campus with Christiane Amanpour, CNN correspondent, as the guest speaker. I can't get there but maybe you can.

Reid's the one on the trampoline at the very beginning. That's my boy!

31-derful Options

Leaving the psychiatrist's office with a new game plan (or rather the same one that I will follow more closely this time), Reid and I were early arrivals at Allie's bus stop. I decided to spring for a cookie, cinnamon roll, and iced mocha at the neighborhood bakery there. On familiar turf with the rarity of time to spare, the cloud lifted.

A song lyric rang through my mind...it's gonna be alright....

"Reid, who sings that song? It's gonna be...," I asked the master dj. Quicker than a Shazam app, he spouted back, "Sara Groves! It's on Add to the Beauty," then proceeded to sing the rest of the album. Just like Toucan Sam, he always knows.

Hope springs eternal. As the good doc offered, "If this doesn't work, I have 31 others we can try." Hmmm...that brings to mind another foundational hymn to bear in mind:

My hope is built on nothing less

Than Jesus Christ, my righteousness.

I dare not trust in (doctors or meds),

But wholly lean on Jesus' name.

Sing it with me now

On Christ the solid Rock I stand;

All other ground is sinking sand,

All other ground is sinking sand.

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