nspirational Writings

 The Special Mother written by Erma Bombeck 

Most women become mothers by accident, some by choice, a few by social pressures and a couple by habit.

This year nearly 100,000 women will become mothers of handicapped children.  Did you ever wonder how mothers of handicapped children are chosen?

Somehow I visualize God hovering over earth selecting his instruments for propagation with great care and deliberation.  As He observes, He instruct His angels to make notes in a giant ledger.

“Armstrong, Beth; son.  Patron saint…give her Gerard.  He’s used to profanity.”

“Forrest, Marjorie; daughter.  Patron saint, Cecelia.”

“Rutledge, Carrie; twins.  Patron saint, Matthew.”

Finally He passes a name to an angel and smiles, “Give her a handicapped child.”

The angel is curious.  “Why this one God?  She’s so happy.”

“Exactly,” smiles God, “Could I give a handicapped child to a mother who does not know laughter?  That would be cruel.”

“But has she patience?” asks the angel.

“I don’t want her to have too much patience or she will drown in a sea of self-pity and despair.  Once the shock and resentment wears off, she’ll handle it.”

“I watched her today.  She has that feeling of self and independence that is so rare and so necessary in a mother.  You see, the child I’m going to give her has her own world.  She has to make her live in her world and that’s not going to be easy.”

“But, Lord, I don’t think she even believes in you.”  God smiles, “No matter, I can fix that.  This one is perfect –she has just enough selfishness.”  The angel gasps – “selfishness? Is that a virtue?”

God nods.  “if she can’t separate herself from the child occasionally, she’ll never survive.  Yes, here is a woman whom I will bless with a child less than perfect.  She doesn’t realize it yet, but she is to be envied.  She will never take for granted a “spoken word”.  Nor, will she consider a “step” ordinary.  When her child says “Momma” for the first time, she will be present at a miracle, and will know it!”

“I will permit her to see clearly the things I see…ignorance, cruelty, prejudice…and allow her to rise above them.  She will never be alone.  I will be at her side every minute every day of her life, because she is doing My work as surely as if she is here by My side.”

“And what about her Patron saint?”  asks the angle, his pen poised in mid-air.

God smiles, “A mirror will suffice.”

Thoughts of a  Mom
By Maureen K. Higgins    
submitted by JO
Many of you I have never even met face to face, but I've searched you out every day. I've looked for you on the Internet, on playgrounds and in grocery stores. I've become an expert at identifying you. You are well-worn. You are stronger than you ever wanted to be. Your words ring experience, experience you culled with your very heart and soul. You are compassionate beyond the expectations of this world.


You are my "sisters." Yes, you and I, my friend, are sisters in a sorority. A very elite sorority. We are special. Just like any other sorority, we were chosen to be members. Some of us were invited to join immediately, some not for months or even years. Some of us even tried to refuse membership, but to no avail. We were initiated in neurologist's offices and NICU units, in obstetrician's offices, in emergency rooms, and during ultrasounds. We were initiated with somber telephone calls, consultations, evaluations, blood tests, x-rays, MRI films, and heart surgeries.


All of us have one thing in common. One day things were fine. We were pregnant, or we had just given birth, or we were nursing our newborn, or we were playing with our toddler. Yes, one minute everything was fine. Then, whether it happened in an instant, as it often does, or over the course of a few weeks or months, our entire lives changed. Something wasn't quite right. Then we found ourselves mothers of children with special needs.

 

We are united, we sisters, regardless of the diversity of our children's special needs. Some of our children undergo chemotherapy. Some need respirators and ventilators. Some are unable to talk, some are unable to walk. Some eat through feeding tubes. Some live in a different world. We do not discriminate against those mothers whose children's needs are not as "special" as our child's. We have mutual respect and empathy for all the women who walk in our shoes.  We are knowledgeable. We have educated ourselves with whatever materials we could find. We know "the" specialists in the field. We know "the" neurologists,  "the" hospitals, "the" wonder drugs, "the" treatments. We know "the" tests that  need to be done, we know "the" degenerative and progressive diseases and we hold  our breath while our children are tested for them. Without formal education, we  could become board certified in neurology, endocrinology, and psychiatry.


We have taken on our insurance companies and school boards to get what our children need to survive, and to flourish. We have prevailed upon the State to include augmentative communication devices in special education classes and mainstream schools for our children with cerebral palsy. We have labored to prove to insurance companies the medical necessity of gait trainers and other adaptive equipment for our children with spinal cord defects. We have sued municipalities to have our children properly classified so they could receive education and evaluation commensurate with heir diagnosis.  We have learned to deal with the rest of the world, even if that means walking away from it. We have tolerated scorn in supermarkets during "tantrums" and gritted our teeth while discipline was advocated by the person behind us on line. We have tolerated inane suggestions and home remedies from well-meaning strangers.  We have tolerated mothers of children without special needs complaining about chicken pox and ear infections. We have learned that many of our closest friends can't understand what it's like to be in our sorority, and don't even want to  try.


We have our own personal copies of Emily Perl Kingsley's "A Trip To Holland" and Erma Bombeck's "The Special Mother." We keep them by our bedside and read and reread them during our toughest hours. We have coped with holidays. We have found ways to get our physically handicapped children to the neighbors' front doors on Halloween, and we have found ways to help our deaf children form the words, "trick or treat." We have accepted that our children with sensory dysfunction will never wear velvet or lace on Christmas. We have painted a canvas of lights and a blazing Yule log with our words for our blind children. We have pureed turkey on Thanksgiving. We have bought white chocolate bunnies for Easter. And all the while, we have tried  to create a festive atmosphere for the rest of our family.


We've gotten up every morning since our journey began wondering how we'd make it through another day, and gone to bed every evening not sure how we did it.  We've mourned the fact that we never got to relax and sip red wine in Italy.  We've mourned the fact that our trip to Holland has required much more baggage than we ever imagined when we first visited the travel agent. And we've mourned because we left for the airport without most of the things we needed for
the trip.

But we, sisters, we keep the faith always. We never stop believing. Our love for our special children and our belief in all that they will achieve in life knows no bounds. We dream of them scoring touchdowns and extra points and home runs. We visualize them running sprints and marathons. We dream of them planting vegetable seeds, riding horses, and chopping down trees. We hear their angelic voices singing Christmas carols. We see their palettes smeared with watercolors,  and their fingers flying over ivory keys in a concert hall. We are amazed at the  grace of their pirouettes. We never, never stop believing in all they will  accomplish as they pass through this world. But in the meantime, my sisters, the most important thing we do, is hold tight to their little hands as together, we special mothers and our special children, reach for the stars.

And he gave me to you written by

Submitted to the RTS List by Debbie Falkowski

And he gave me to you:

Ever wonder why you're the lucky one 

The one who came to be?

 

The oh so very lucky one

Who was chosen to care for me?

 

It may not be obvious sometimes

But you have all I need.

I need someone with patience

I need someone who is kind.

 

I need someone who is strong

And not quick to loose their mind

 

I need someone who is special

Someone very special indeed

 

I need someone who will care,

Someone to care for me

 

You may never know my thoughts

You may never know my voice

 

Just please be reassured

That was not my choice.

 

God knew what he was doing

When he gave me to you

 

He knew you could handle me

He knew what you could do.

 

You see I am very special

Someone very special indeed

 

I need someone who will care

Someone to care for me

 

I know that I am not perfect

And that I make you cry

 

That was not my intent

I'm just your little guy.

 

One day you will know me

The way you want to know

 

But for now I'm just me

No matter how hard that may be

 

But I am a special person

Someone very special indeed

 

You'll never know how glad I am

That God gave you to me.

 

You see you are not the lucky one

The lucky one is me.

From a Child's Perspective written by

Submitted to the RTS List by Betty Boucher-MacDonald

 

Our 6 1/2 yr old made a very interesting observation today. While we were walking along one day I took her hand to hold it and she looked at me and said " Mom I'm a big girl you don't have to hold my hand anymore." I told her that I knew I didn't have to hold her hand but that little girls get big very quickly and that they don't want to hold their mom's hand. She said that she still wanted to hold my hand just for fun but that I was probably right because she noticed that our 16yr old Courtney never held my hand. Today out of the blue she whispered in my ear that I was very lucky because even if Keith 13yrs (RTS) got he would

probably always want to hold my hand 'cause he's so special.  She told me I shouldn't be sad when in a few years she no longer could hold my hand because Keith always likes holding my hand. And that she announced is

the very good thing about being special you can always make your Mom happy. Out of the mouths of babes!

 

SALUTE TO MOTHERS written by

Submitted to the RTS list by Ruth

 

Expectant mothers waiting for a newborn's arrival say they don't care what sex the baby is. They just want to have ten fingers and ten toes.

Mothers lie.

Every mother wants so much more. She wants perfectly healthy baby with a round head, rosebud lips, button nose, beautiful eyes and satin skin. She wants a baby so gorgeous that people will pity the Gerber baby for being flat-out ugly. She wants a baby that will roll over, sit up and take those first steps right on schedule (according to the baby development chart on page 57, column two). Every mother wants a baby that can see, hear, run, jump and fire neurons by the billions. She wants a kid that can smack the ball out of the park and do toe points that are the envy of the entire ballet class. Call it greed if you want, but a mother wants what a mother wants.

Some mothers get babies with something more.  Maybe you're one who got a baby with a condition you couldn't pronounce, a spine that didn't fuse, a missing chromosome or a palate that didn't close. The doctor's words took your breath away. It was just like the time at recess in the fourth grade when you didn't see the kick ball coming, and it knocked the wind right out of you.

Some of you left the hospital with a healthy bundle, then, months, even years later, took him in for a routine visit, or scheduled him for a checkup, and crashed head first into a brick wall as you bore the brunt of devastating news. It didn't seem possible. That didn't run in your family. Could this really be happening in your lifetime.

There's no such thing as a perfect body. Everybody will bear something at some time or another. maybe the affliction will be apparent to curious eyes, or maybe it will be unseen, quietly treated with trips to the doctor, therapy or surgery. Mothers of children with disabilities live the limitations with them.

Frankly, I don't know how you do it. Sometimes you mothers scare me. How you lift that kid in and out of the wheelchair twenty times a day. How you monitor tests, track medications, and serve as the gatekeeper to a hundred specialists yammering in your ear.

I wonder how you endure the clichés and the platitudes, the well-intentioned souls explaining how God is at work when you've occasionally questioned if God is on strike. I even wonder how you endure schmaltzy columns like this one-saluting you, painting you as hero and saint, when you know you're ordinary. You snap, you bark, you bite. You didn't volunteer for this, you didn't jump up and down in the motherhood line yelling, "Choose me, God. Choose me? I've got what it takes." 

You're a woman who doesn't have time to step back and put things in perspective, so let me do it for you. From where I sit, you're way ahead of the pack. You've developed the strength of the draft horse while holding onto the delicacy of a daffodil. You have a heart that melts like chocolate in a glove box in July, counter-balanced against the stubbornness of an Ozark mule.

You are the mother, advocate and protector of a child with a disability. You're a neighbor, a friend, a woman I pass at church and my sister-in-law. You're a wonder.

You know you have a child with special needs when...

Submitted to the RTS List by Meghan Stewart

You compare ER's instead of grocery stores.

You compare your child's oxygen saturations.

You view toys as "therapy.'

You don't take a new day for granted.

You teach your child HOW to pull things out of the cupboard, off the bookcases, and that feeding the dog from the table is fun.

The clothes your infant wore last fall still fit her this fall.

Everything is an educational opportunity instead of just having plain old fun.

You cheer instead of scold when they blow bubbles in their juice

While sitting at the dinner table (that's speech therapy), smear ketchup all over their high chair (that's OT), or throw their toys (that's PT).

You also don't mind if your child goes thru the house tooting a tin whistle.

You fired at least 3 pediatricians and can teach your family doctor a thing or two.

You can name at least 3 genes on chromosome 21. (You really know your toast if you can spell the full names correctly)

You have been told you are "in denial" by at least 3 medical or therapy professionals. This makes you laugh!

You have that incredible sinking feeling that you've forgotten SOMETHING on those few days that you don't have some sort of appointment somewhere!

You get irritated when friends with healthy kids complain about ONE sleepless night when they're child is ill!

Your vocabulary consists of all the letters OT, PT, SP, ASD, VSD, IFSP, etc.

You keep your appointment at the specialist even though a tropical storm is raging because you just want to get this one over with.....you waited 8 months to get it.....and besides, no one else will be there!

Fighting and wrestling with siblings is PT.

Speech therapy occurs in the tub with a sibling.

When potty training is complete, you take out a full-page public notice in the Washington Post.

When the Doctors/Specialist/Hospitals etc. all know you by your name without referring to your chart.

You keep a daily growth chart.

You calculate monthly statistics for the number of times your child vomits, and did this for more then one year.

You phone all your friends when your child sits up for the first time, at age two.

With a big smile on your face you tell a stranger that your four year old just started walking last week.

Her medical file is two inches and growing.

You have a new belief...that angels live with us on earth.  

Our lives outside of normal
written by Jocelynn...mom to Emerson (3) and Wesley (14 months - RTS), in Sioux Falls,SD

On the outside of normal
I sit with my blue eyes son
my heart clenches so tightly
for he is the only one

Who can bring me to this world
where the sun shines bold and bright,
where love is so pure and simple
and felt with God's might.

On the outside of normal
Once seemed frightening and bleak
but it's earth's only place
to find strength in the meek.

As tears turn from sorrow
I'm overwhelmed with joy
for this blessing in disguise,
my special little boy

On the outside of normal
we shall laugh and dance and sing
we'll rejoice in each new day
and the blessings that it brings

We'll wrap ourselves in the warmth
of every ray of sun
and leap to kiss the moon's face
when each blessed day is done

My beautiful son smiles
I wonder why I cried
For there's nowhere else I'd rather be
than here with him on the outside.

Submitted to RTS list by Janet Estes

In May 2003, in Victoria, British Columbia, Canada, the Family Focus Conference (for special needs families) was held. One of the sessions offered was Elders In The Village. The presenters - all parents of children/adults with disabilities - shared their Top 15 List of what they've learned over the years while supporting their children, other families and people with developmental disabilities.

1. Self-Advocates Are Important Community Members
The community needs help and guidance of self-advocates and families in order to learn how to be welcoming.

2. Ask For Help
It's okay for parents to ask friends, neighbours and family for help.

3. Join Together With Others
There is strength in numbers, coalitions work. Groups of parents and supporters giving a continuing, honest, clear message to decision makers can be very powerful and effective.

4. Respect Your Elders
What I've learned from other families and wise people gave me my PHE degree (Parent Who Has Experience). Find a mentor - you will never regret it.

5. It Never Ends
Don't expect to retire from this role - you die first. We'll worry about all our children until the day we die, it's just a little more intense and on-going for our kids who require extra support.

6. It's Not All About Service
Don't rely on the system - it will come and go, shift and change. Promises will be made and broken, then made again. We all know the fewer people who are paid to be in our child's life, the safer and happier they (and we) will be.

7. Learn From Others But Trust Your Own Instincts
Learn everything you can from books and others... and then trust in your own instincts to make good decisions for your child. Take risks. Have a strong vision and clarity of purpose.

8. Educate Yourself And Use The System
Get to know about the institutions that your child will interact with - school district, Ministries, service providers. Use the information you learn to advocate for what you want. Work the system. Build relationships within the system.

9. Everything I Learned - I Learned From My Daughter/Son
Help your child to know their choices, and then listen to that they tell you - keep grounded - you will learn so much from them. Support your child to make decisions, to learn it's okay to say "no" - to say what they think.

10. Treat Yourself To A Parenting Course, Counselling and/or Psychotherapy
Typical parenting courses, counselling and psychotherapy will help gain insight into yourselves which comes in handy while raising your child and managing your marriage. Being aware and understanding your feelings can make you less reactive and angry, and possibly more effective parents and advocates.

11. Support Your Child In All Kinds Of Friendships
Support your child to develop relationships with typical kids as well as kids with disabilities.

12. Take The High Road
Always treat people with respect - you never know when you may have to work with that person again or ask for something in the future. It doesn't mean that you let people get away with being unprofessional. Stand your ground. Be firm - and ask for what you want. Preserving the relationship for the long term will always pay off.

13. Don't Take No For An Answer
Ask for what you need for your child. Don't be made to feel guilty for asking for what might make a huge difference in your child's life. Persevere. Creative people will figure out how to make it happen - and you can help them.

14. Have High And Attainable Expectations
All of our children reach success because of the high expectations we have for them. This is not unrealistic - all children want to make us proud of them. It is having high expectations that has helped our children attend the neighbourhood school and community college, hold a job, learn to read. Always be reaching for more.

15. Learn to Laugh From Your Stories
By laughing from your stories, it makes life more enjoyable and valuable.

Dr. Seuss IEP written by author unknown  

Submitted to RTS list by Janet Estes

Do you like these IEPs?

I do not like these IEPs.
I do not like them, Jeeze Louise
We test, we check, we plan, we meet
But nothing ever seems complete.

Would you, could you like the form?
I do not like the form I see
Not page 1, not 2, even not 3
Another change, A brand new box
I think we all
Have lost our rocks.

Could you all meet here or there?
We could not all meet here or there.
We cannot all fit anywhere.
Not in a room, Not in the hall
There seems to be no space at all.

Would you, could you meet again?
I cannot meet again next week
No lunch, no prep
Please hear me speak.
No, not at dusk.  No, not at dawn
At 4 pm I should be gone.

Could you hear while all speak out?
Would you write the words they spout?
I could not hear, I would not write
This does not need to be a fight.
Sign here, date there,
Mark this, check that
Beware the students advocate.

You do not like them, So you say
Try again! Try again!
And you may.

If you will let me be, I will try again
You will see.

Say!
I almost like these IEPs
I think I'll write 6003.
And I will practice day and night
Until they say
"You got it right!"

"Kara" by Patty Patterson  

Submitted to the RTS List by Daniel Zimmerman

Kara was different. Because she was born with a handicap, she couldn't walk or run like the other children. And because her speech was also effected, she couldn't speak clearly either. Yes, Kara was very different than the other children. But deep down inside, Kara was also very much the same. She needed so much to be loved and accepted, yet other children were often quick to push her away.

An opportunity came for Kara to attend church camp. She had a new motorized wheelchair and the camp was handicap accessible, so getting around wouldn't be much of a problem. Kara was anxious, but after giving it a lot of careful consideration, she decided to go. She was so excited. Her mother would be going to drop her off and help her unpack and then she would be on her own for a whole week. Well, there would be a counselor down the hall, but to Kara, this was still a major step of independence.

Kara managed well. She was able to get her shower, get dressed and get to and from the dining hall with no major problems. She kept up with the camp schedule even when it meant sitting on the sidelines while the other children played basketball or volleyball. She was determined to stay with her group throughout the day, hoping eventually she would find a friend. However, the other kids were so cruel. They would often tease her and she was always excluded from group activities.

Finally, on the last day, a banquet was planned. Awards were given to children who excelled in this sport or that. But best of all, anyone who wanted to was given the opportunity to share whatever the Lord had done in
their lives during the week. Kara made the most of this opportunity. When she was called upon to share her testimony, she bravely said, "You know, I had my doubts about coming here. In a way I was scared. I was afraid that the other children would make fun of me. And you know what? They did. I was also afraid that no one would want to talk to me or play with me. And you know what? I was right. But I'm still glad I came. Even though most of
you avoided me and some of you even made fun of me, I did find one friend.  I found Jesus! And I also came to realize that I'm not the only one here with a handicap. My legs may be paralyzed. They might not work like yours
do. And although I don't understand why, I'm glad it's my legs that have no feeling and not my heart."


For this people's heart is waxed gross, and their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes they have closed; lest at any time they should see with their eyes and hear with their ears, and should understand with their heart, and should be converted, and I should heal them.
Mat 13:15 KJV  

 

Blessed are you written by author unknown  

Submitted to the RTS List by Kip and Scotty
Lubbock, TX


Blessed are you who take the time
To listen to difficult speech,
For you help me to know that if I persevere,
I can be understood.
Blessed are you who never bid me to "hurry up"
Or take my tasks from me
And do them for me,
For I often need time rather than help.
 
Blessed are you who stand beside me
As I enter new and untried ventures,
For my failures will be outweighed
By the times I surprise myself and you.
 
Blessed are you who asked for my help,
For my greatest need is to be needed.
 
Blessed are you who understand that
It is difficult for me
To put my thoughts into words.
 
Blessed are you who with a smile,
Encourage me to try once more.
 
Blessed are you who never remind me
That today I asked the same question twice.
 
Blessed are you who respect me
And love me just as I am.

 

Subject: The Old Man

author:  unknown

submitted to the RTS List by Bridget - Mom to Kief (35-RTS)
Victorville, CA

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of Johns Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore.  We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to outpatients at the clinic.
One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man.  "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face, lopsided from swelling, red and
raw.  Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening.  I've come to see if you've a room for just one night.  I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning."  He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success; no one seemed to have a room.  "I guess it's my face.  I know it looks terrible, but my doctor says with a few more treatments..." For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking
chair on the porch.  My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch.  I went inside and finished getting supper.  When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us.  "No thank you.  I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes.  It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body.  He told me he fished for a
living to support his daughter, her five children and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury.
He didn't tell it by way of complaint; in fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer.  He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going. At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him.  When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded, and the little man was out on the porch.  He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if
asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment?  I won't put you out a bit.  I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home.  Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind."  I told him he was welcome to come again.  And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning.  As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen.  He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4 a.m., and I wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden.  Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery;
fish and oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed.  Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.  When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning.  "Did you keep that awful looking man last night?  I turned him away!  You can lose roomers by putting up such people!"  Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice.  But, oh!  If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness' would have been easier to bear.  I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.


Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse.  As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms.  But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket.  I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!"  My friend changed my mind.  "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and
knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail.  It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden." She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in heaven.  "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman.  "He
won't mind starting in this small body."  All this happened long ago -- and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.

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 16:7b)

just love the idea that Kief is that
beautiful flower in that old pot - you just have to get to  know him!

Beautiful Prayer written by

Submitted to the RTS List by Gina

I asked God to take away my pain.
God said, No.
It is not for me to take away,
but for you to give it up.

 I asked God to make my handicapped child whole.
God said, No.
Her spirit was whole, Her body was only temporary.

I asked God to grant me patience.
God said, No.
Patience is a byproduct of tribulations;
It isn't granted, it is learned.

I asked God to give me happiness.
God said, No.
I give you blessings.
Happiness is up to you.

I asked God to spare me pain.
God said, No.
Suffering draws you apart from worldly cares and
Brings you closer to me.

I asked God to make my spirit grow.
God said, No.
You must grow on your own,
But I will prune you to make you fruitful.

I asked for all things that I might enjoy life.
God said, No.
I will give you life so that you may enjoy all things.

I ask God to help me LOVE others, as much as he loves me.
God said...Ahhhh, finally you
have the idea.

THIS DAY IS YOURS DON'T THROW IT AWAY
May God Bless You,
"To the world you might be one person,
But to one person you just might be the world