Inspiration Archive

        

  

Inspiration Archive

(First Post)

 Steady Progress

     When there is more to do than can possibly be done, or when I am overwhelmed and grieving, I try to remember that, no matter how far off our family's goals and dreams are, or how steep and treacherous the terrain, the only way to get there is to move forward.  Going step-by-step, one thing at a time, and a minute here and there in the cracks of a busy day, adds up to a multitude of moments.  Before I know it, I am looking back from a higher place at the long distance we've covered. It is then I get to enjoy the new view, and keep going.   A new life is but footsteps away.

(Second Post)

Living In The Moment…
     Something I’ve learned from my son with autism, is that every moment is rich, and unique; every ‘now’ is different, only carrying the illusion of the familiar place.  Nothing is static; we are fluid as the stream and currents of air.  Every time he goes outside to our same old backyard with it’s aging swings and big downhill drop, there is something new to see in the Carolina sky and to hear from sparrow and crow, the breeze touches us in a new way, the ground may be wet with dew and dappled with spring violets, or the fall leaves might make fascinating patterns in the grass.  Rosemary spices the clear air by the front steps, while damp mosses haunt the edges of the yard in hidden places and tangled vines.  I catch glimpses of the world from his waiting, window-pressed face, and begin to see the magic in the moment that is ‘now.’

(Third Post)

A Day At The Sea…

My son revels in the mix of textures, sights, sounds and scents he finds at the ocean’s edge. The scratch of grass and chipped shells approaching the beach from the parking lot – prickles on the feet mixed with the hint of soft sand. The scent of drying seaweed and brine are omnipresent. The breath of the sea – in and out, it’s waves visible, dancing with reflected light, the massiveness of it, the underlying roar. Then down closer, through the shell spiked sand to the very edge of earth and water, where sandcastles wait to be built, and faster still, running now to plunge our feet into – ah! Cold! Quickly back away and then push forward, laughing, sea gulls calling. Waves finally knock us back, and we find our balance – where the ocean is softer and the sand like silk. He sits there in bliss – a small school of red and electric blue fish dart with one mind up and around him and back to the sea with the wave that brought them. Bliss!  

(Fourth Post)

Courage
My son was finally out of the PICU and into a regular room after his third open-heart surgery, and we were getting closer to going home every day.  Finally, we would be able to get into the little red wagon and see something besides his hospital room!  He had chest-tubes still attached on both sides, and we slowly took him out of his crib and put him into the wagon. The chest-tube fluid drainage containers were hooked on each side, hanging over the edge.  We went out of the ward and down the hall to see the fish swimming in their big tank by the elevators.  We stopped.  He smiled and pointed – “fish!” he said, like everything was fine, like he wasn't stuck in a wagon with tubes poking out of him.  He is the essence of courage and strength, the one who teaches me how to do this, my big-eyed boy in that little red wagon.  

(Fifth Post)

Committed To Care
There is a huge difference between an obligation – something I have to do, and being committed to something or someone – being devoted.  The first – the Obligation – is a big foot-dragger, something to moan about, to be a martyr to and carry like the proverbial cross-to-bear.  The second – Committed – is nearly the opposite.  To be committed, devoted, dedicated – these are empowering words, they uplift, give strength and make their way through sacred ground.  The amazing truth is that I get to choose which path I take – the foot-dragging one, or the empowered one.  I’m honestly not strong enough to carry a cross, but I can pick up an 85-lb sleeping child and carry him gently to his bed, and I can carry my one-year-old son into the operating room for his open-heart surgery.  To me, devotion and commitment are the riches of life; they make everything, ultimately, an act of love.

(Sixth Post)

The Gift of an Expanded Heart
One of the great gifts of my life has come from experiencing my children and my deep love for them that no "special need" or medical condition could possibly diminish.  And from that point of love for them, my ability to accept and value ALL those within the definitions of "special needs" and "medically fragile."  Prior to my experience with my children, despite my best efforts to feel otherwise, I am ashamed to say I felt uncomfortable, and somehow separate from this whole population of people, who were, in my day, kept separate and hidden from "the rest of us."  Now, there are no such boundaries - they are forever broken.  There is no "us" and "them" in the world for me in any category now - only people, all together here on earth, enriching the whole by just being who and what we are.  

[Seventh Post]

Observation

I watch in fascination as my son pounds the ground with sticks, over and over, he taps different surfaces, finds new sticks, each time eliciting a new response, a different reaction. 
I can see he is doing more than just banging. He is observing, noticing, feeling with his body the reactions to his actions. 
It is obsessive, but purposeful. How many subtleties of arc and circular spatter of dirt as it bounces wave-like in a rippling pond of earth can he see, record and seek out anew?  Wet versus dry, rock versus soft soil - the possibilities of the moment are endless.
 
He gets excited; he shakes his hands in a blur by his face. 
I catch him in motion with my camera – a slight blurriness to the picture is somehow poetic, knowing, real. He is motion; kinetic, frenetic, wheeling free energy opened wide like petals to the sun.  

 

 [Eighth Post]

 

My Two Voices
On one side there is the voice that says “Who are you trying to kid? This is horrible! It’s not a “challenge” or an “opportunity,” it’s just pain wrapped around the name of a medical diagnosis. Don’t pretty it up with psychology. Call a bad thing a bad thing!” 
On the other side is the voice that says “Yes. A ‘bad thing’ has happened. What are you going to do now that you’ve named it? Wallow in it? Be a victim of circumstance?  Or are you going to pick yourself up and rise to the challenge one more time? Are you going to turn it into an opportunity to learn and grow and be more than you ever thought you could be? The choice is yours!” 
And that’s what it comes down to - my choice.  Empowerment always resides at the point of choice, even if it seems that all external choices are 'bad' (death or three open heart surgeries, for example). The internal choice to arise is always the one that gets me through.

(Ninth Post) 

 This New Year

The New Year is a time of reflection and visioning for me.  Finding those things, events and people in the past year, and the present moment, that I'm grateful for is a wonderful way to begin.  I'm heartened by the positives, the little victories, the minor miracles, the love, the improvements and changes - and this is, of course only a partial picture.  There were plenty of set-backs and "negatives" last year as well, but what I choose to focus on is what feeds me, encourages me and gives me the hope I need to continue walking the path of challenge.  With my heart in line with all that is well and right in my world, I can envision a new year of forward steps, challenges met, and horizons expanded. I am defiantly grateful.  Blessings to you on the New Year!
 
(Tenth Post)
The Holidays
Thanksgiving is around the corner here in the US, and our family has found itself celebrating alone this year.  The challenge of attending a family gathering far away is, frankly, too great; travel, food and dietary issues, behaviors and stress all make this an impossible task.  In the past, the family has gathered at a relative's house and it's been a kind of reunion.  But taking our son with autism was a huge challenge.  We were only able to 'tag out' the responsibility the past two years. My husband went with our other child to be with his family first, then I came down separately and brought our autistic son there briefly for the actual Dinner. Then my husband took our behaviorally-challenged son home while I stayed behind with our other child.  If you know severe autism, you'll understand why.  If not, well, let's just say we wish we didn't have to do it this way.  But those couple of hours when we could all be together, as stressful as they were, were wonderful memories.  Blessings on your Holiday!

All Inspirations © Lynn Morgan Rosser, 2009, 2010(unless otherwise indicated)

 

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