i must admit, i am verklempt, and i get to say that because i passed a facebook 'test' that said i was 100% jewish after answering 10 questions. i owe that to all you mensches out there who taught me well- (Frank and Coris families- you know who you are).
i am verklempt because of the response to the picture i posted of zoe yesterday. zoe all dressed up for the tim tebow foundation event- "a night to shine". a night for kids with special needs to dress up, walk down the red carpet and be crowned queen. to be not just accepted but celebrated - as you are- beloved. God's beloved child. as she is, as i am, as you are.
the love and care that came out of people from her entire life and even from my entire life was overwhelming. it was over 150 "loves, likes" and over 30 comments of love and support. people who have known me since i was 5, people who have known her since birth, people who have worked with her, taught her to read, taught her to hike, taught her to listen inside and know herself. people who have prayed for her and with her and me. people who have stuck by her, who believe in her, people who have told her consistently that she is valuable and beautiful and capable. people who don't avoid her differences but welcome them. people who have helped me up off the floor of my life, who have given me hope, who have just listened, who have cried. people who have invited her into their lives and showed their own children that differences aren't scary or to be avoided but included and learned from. people who only know her story, my story from reading about it here. people who zoe has inspired.
the list of names is like a collage of our lives- people i haven't seen in years, people from all over the world, people i haven't even met, and people i see everyday. it reminds me that we are in each other lives. we touch each other more than we know. we matter to each other. and we have such an opportunity to help each other and be less alone. it also reminded me that while sometimes our belovedness can be lost behind special needs fronts, so can our loss of belovedness get lost beneath our non-special needs fronts.
sometimes we look like we must feel our worth because we look good, or we at least look "normal". but we so often don't feel our worth. we so often loose our awareness of ourselves as beloved- as we are- because inside, we feel and see our own handicaps that mar our believe that we are loveable.
i've written before that my two fears as a child were that God would "make" me be a missionary, and that God would give me a child with special needs. hahaha. well, here i am with both now true. why did i fear these things? safety. that is why. one, the missionary thing, was about fearing being in dangerous places, places with less security, less control, more risk. the second, was also about safety and control.
as a child i had a 'bleeding heart'. i felt for those who were different. i thought i was empathizing. that i was compassionate, but what i felt was pity. i was treating people with disabilities not like they were like me, but that they had my sympathies because they were not like me. i'm so ashamed to write that, but it's true.
to pity is to feel sorry for or compassion for someone suffering.
why was i assuming that people who may look different or be differently-abled, are suffering? and was i assuming that all those with an intact body, clear speech, a smooth gait and no intellectual challenges are not suffering?
i think my pity was about my own shame and my own fear. 'what if someone sees how disabled i feel on the side?' what if i couldn't hide it, and my challenges or weaknesses or differences, were out there for all to see the moment i entered the room?'
i saw people with differences or special needs as fully exposed and that was terrifying. as i've done a lot of internal work over the past few years, i can see how much of me i hid that i believed was unacceptable. how i picked through the parts that i would show, and tucked away the parts that brought me shame. what if i didn't have that option? how scary is that.
having zoe has changed that in me. i don't pity zoe. i have moments where i feel sad with her, when i hear and see her frustration and i so wish i could take it away. but i also have moments when i feel a tinge of sadness about something in her that she is not sad about- about her shoulder that sticks up and she can't put down, or her limp when she walks. and what i've learned in those moments is that they're about me not her. that tinge comes from my deep and often hidden insecurities - my interpretation of how i would feel if it were my shoulder and my limp. it gives me an opportunity to pause and inquire inside what parts of me are afraid of exposure? it gives me the chance to reflect on my brokenness, and to see myself and her in a different light. a light that shows we are the same.
some of the most beautiful or whole looking people, if turned inside out, would look empty or crippled. and some of the most scarred people turned inside out would blind us with beauty. it speaks to our bodily limitations and the possible freedom of our souls. we miss the point, we get it wrong. we look at the frame and miss the artwork.
so God, who knows what is best for me, gave me the gifts of being a missionary and having a girl named zoe. the gift of seeing the world differently and learning to see people differently. to see wholeness and brokenness differently. to let go of safety and control and trust Him.
but now i'll stop the long speil and the kavetshing and thank all of you menshes for your love and support and bid you shalom.
i am verklempt because of the response to the picture i posted of zoe yesterday. zoe all dressed up for the tim tebow foundation event- "a night to shine". a night for kids with special needs to dress up, walk down the red carpet and be crowned queen. to be not just accepted but celebrated - as you are- beloved. God's beloved child. as she is, as i am, as you are.
the love and care that came out of people from her entire life and even from my entire life was overwhelming. it was over 150 "loves, likes" and over 30 comments of love and support. people who have known me since i was 5, people who have known her since birth, people who have worked with her, taught her to read, taught her to hike, taught her to listen inside and know herself. people who have prayed for her and with her and me. people who have stuck by her, who believe in her, people who have told her consistently that she is valuable and beautiful and capable. people who don't avoid her differences but welcome them. people who have helped me up off the floor of my life, who have given me hope, who have just listened, who have cried. people who have invited her into their lives and showed their own children that differences aren't scary or to be avoided but included and learned from. people who only know her story, my story from reading about it here. people who zoe has inspired.
the list of names is like a collage of our lives- people i haven't seen in years, people from all over the world, people i haven't even met, and people i see everyday. it reminds me that we are in each other lives. we touch each other more than we know. we matter to each other. and we have such an opportunity to help each other and be less alone. it also reminded me that while sometimes our belovedness can be lost behind special needs fronts, so can our loss of belovedness get lost beneath our non-special needs fronts.
sometimes we look like we must feel our worth because we look good, or we at least look "normal". but we so often don't feel our worth. we so often loose our awareness of ourselves as beloved- as we are- because inside, we feel and see our own handicaps that mar our believe that we are loveable.
i've written before that my two fears as a child were that God would "make" me be a missionary, and that God would give me a child with special needs. hahaha. well, here i am with both now true. why did i fear these things? safety. that is why. one, the missionary thing, was about fearing being in dangerous places, places with less security, less control, more risk. the second, was also about safety and control.
as a child i had a 'bleeding heart'. i felt for those who were different. i thought i was empathizing. that i was compassionate, but what i felt was pity. i was treating people with disabilities not like they were like me, but that they had my sympathies because they were not like me. i'm so ashamed to write that, but it's true.
to pity is to feel sorry for or compassion for someone suffering.
why was i assuming that people who may look different or be differently-abled, are suffering? and was i assuming that all those with an intact body, clear speech, a smooth gait and no intellectual challenges are not suffering?
i think my pity was about my own shame and my own fear. 'what if someone sees how disabled i feel on the side?' what if i couldn't hide it, and my challenges or weaknesses or differences, were out there for all to see the moment i entered the room?'
i saw people with differences or special needs as fully exposed and that was terrifying. as i've done a lot of internal work over the past few years, i can see how much of me i hid that i believed was unacceptable. how i picked through the parts that i would show, and tucked away the parts that brought me shame. what if i didn't have that option? how scary is that.
having zoe has changed that in me. i don't pity zoe. i have moments where i feel sad with her, when i hear and see her frustration and i so wish i could take it away. but i also have moments when i feel a tinge of sadness about something in her that she is not sad about- about her shoulder that sticks up and she can't put down, or her limp when she walks. and what i've learned in those moments is that they're about me not her. that tinge comes from my deep and often hidden insecurities - my interpretation of how i would feel if it were my shoulder and my limp. it gives me an opportunity to pause and inquire inside what parts of me are afraid of exposure? it gives me the chance to reflect on my brokenness, and to see myself and her in a different light. a light that shows we are the same.
some of the most beautiful or whole looking people, if turned inside out, would look empty or crippled. and some of the most scarred people turned inside out would blind us with beauty. it speaks to our bodily limitations and the possible freedom of our souls. we miss the point, we get it wrong. we look at the frame and miss the artwork.
so God, who knows what is best for me, gave me the gifts of being a missionary and having a girl named zoe. the gift of seeing the world differently and learning to see people differently. to see wholeness and brokenness differently. to let go of safety and control and trust Him.
but now i'll stop the long speil and the kavetshing and thank all of you menshes for your love and support and bid you shalom.
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