Small miracles

[some how this didn't get posted when I meant to, so you get a two-fer today]

Last weekend at church, the lovely and talented Rev. Erin said something that has really stuck with me (yes, Erin, some of us do listen. :)) She was talking about the urgency of sharing the Good News. We all know the kind of people who are sure that you are going to hell if you don't accept Jesus into your heart and be born again. Like literal actual factual burning in hell. Like my friend Erin, I don't much believe in an afterlife hell. Hell is here on earth. And the Good News is that it doesn't have to be that way if we just love one another unconditionally.

How's that for hope? Starving? Don't worry about it, someone will feed you. Sick? No worries, someone will heal you. Too sick to watch your kids? No problem, someone else will. We're not there yet, but we can be. How awesome is that?!

What I'm learning, the hard way, is that those people are out there, willing to help, but most of them aren't actively seeking out people to help. So I'm advertising for them. Not kidding. I have been advertising for people to volunteer in Crackle's playroom, doing Son-Rise therapy with him. And they're coming. Really good quality people made from chocolate covered awesome. They're responding to my ad asking them to come and learn how to play with him in a way that helps him learn. I've got 2 fabulous volunteers right now, I interviewed a new one today [addendum: she's amazing! I love her], and am meeting someone else tomorrow [also freakin' amazing!]. I've had several people come and try and it didn't work out for various reasons. But they tried. and that's truly wonderful.

I have people who are willing to commit to a minimum of 4 hours per week for 6 months. I have one who spends countless hours with them because it's fun, and she loves the amazing little gains. She was screaming with glee yesterday because he said "poop". And because of my amazing volunteers (and one paid worker), my kids are making huge strides. Pop wouldn't even get a diagnosis today, I'm willing to bet. Crackle? Crackle spoke. He. Spoke. I cannot tell you what a miracle that is. That's the kind of miracle Jesus spoke of. The good news that it doesn't have to be that way. He spoke. Oh sure, he just said, "poop" and "Dad" and "hey baby" and "up room". But he's 7. And they told me if he didn't talk by five, he never would.

So those are my miracles. That my kids are recovering (miracle 1) because strangers are volunteering their time to help (miracle 2). And that I found out about it in the first place!

Little Miracles

Today, I did something I've done once before. I climbed a hill. A big hill. 200m of path to the summit. Did you think it was a metaphor? Nope. I really climbed a hill. Mill Hill, it's called. Pop likes to hike, so I took him there this morning, and he more or less ran up the hill while I hiked and panted my way up. Down was harder still. Doesn't seem like it should be hard to walk down the mountain, but it sure was. My shins hurt. Okay, my everything hurts, but my shins are really barking at me.

There's something about doing something that is difficult, accomplishing a challenge that is truly awesome. I mean, sure, this is not news, right? But whatever, my blog, my story. Less than 10 years ago, I was disabled. I was in chronic, intractable pain. I crawled up the stairs in my own home. I had canes. I took Percocet. I smoked pot to keep the percocet down. I was a mess. I had no hope. Or very little, I guess, because I still tried things to get better. Never dreamed I'd be truly well again though.

God flicked my ears. Some people call it the universe giving them signs, I call it ear flicks. Some weirdo stopped me in a health food store to tell me I was going to die if I didn't stop eating gluten. I hadn't heard of gluten except in passing. And then over the course of the next few weeks, a zillion people mentioned gluten to me. I said, "Okay GOD! I get it! No more gluten!" and once I finally got it right (and it wasn't quite that simple), I got better. Healthy. Strong. And now I'm climbing mountains. Okay, hills. With footpaths. But to me, it's a mountain. Because 10 years ago, I couldn't walk across campus at UVic. I had a disability parking permit, and drove from family housing to the my building. Literally a 5 minute walk. And now I climb for an hour. It's a miracle.

It is. It is my miracle. One of them anyway. I've been blessed with a few of them. And so, today, when I got to the summit and the sun came out and shone on us, and through the clouds with amazing rays that lit up the water just like I like it, I saw God in it.

I told Pop that I saw God. He said, "Uh huh" in his well duh voice, that only a 3 year old can do without being obnoxious. It's pretty cool how what was amazing and thrilling to me was old hat to him. Isn't it supposed to be the other way around?