Inspiration thread

[Cint]

"Sweet are the thoughts that savor of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown."
~Robert Green, English poet

Savor sweet thoughts here and wear the crown of a quiet mind.

Cindy

[Cinnabar]

Cindy, how beautiful and true ".......the quiet mind is richer than the crown"" I will hold that saying close to my heart, as sometimes I hear a marching band!


Thank you, Cindy
Cinnabar

[nana1]

Since I have been here CWE has been like a family to me. When i needed someone you all where there, thank you so much. I have become friends with different people on here and i am glad i have. When i need the prayers and hugs i do get them from you all. Like when my dad was in hospital having surgery, there was a person helping me threw the times of need as it did end up with me having seizure on top of it.My choir members help me, but you all seem to understand more of what i am going threw every day of my life.

NANCY

[stilldancing_98]

Hi everyone. I am writing on behalf of My Davy. He has asked me to post a note that he is just having the toughest time in his life right now. Some of you have probably talked to him already. I am speaking with him about 2 times a day checking on him and his meds. I love him dearly. We have become very good friends. I see he is on here anyway. But this is just a note up saying that we love you . That there is no picking or choosing when it comes to this disease. Only on how we live with it. You are in my thoughts all the time. Pray for Alex. And his teachers lol. Love Ya Teresa

[stilldancing_98]

Thank you for that. You are a song to each and every one of us. We all have our own beat and move to our own music. Together we make a symphony. I always believed life is a dance. Teresa

[RobinN]

By Julie A. Wilczynski, a mom and physician who is
working to help her own child and many others.

My son, Michael and Local Pee-Wee Football

Michael surprised us early on a Saturday morning, toward the end of July
with the announcement that he wanted to play football. My husband had been a
football player, but we never pressured Michael about playing, so this
announcement came as a total shock.

Michael is 8 years old -almost 9-and he has been diagnosed with
High Functioning Autism, Sensory Integration Dysfunction, and Asperger's. On
good days he appears to be just like any other neurotypical child his age,
with some very hard to detect gross motor delays and speech delays. On bad
days, loud noises can set him off; he flaps his arms when he is tired, and
he has issues knowing where his body ends and the world begins. This
behavior is apparent when he acts as a human pinball, bouncing off
everything and everyone in order to receive physical stimuli.

To please my enthusiastic son, I made some phone calls to see if
it was too late to sign him up for this year's football season. I was in
luck; they were handing out uniforms and pads and helmets that day. I
grabbed my insurance information, my checkbook and Michael and we drove to
the park.

I knew that with his youth and inexperience, he would be playing
in the East Side Mustang "Mighty Mite's" within the Butler Area Midget
Football League. I asked the league coach, Andy Fair, if the "mites" was an
instructional league and he assured me that it was. I was very clear about
Michael's football skill and knowledge -he had none.

Michael was signed up on a Saturday and I had to scramble to get
his physical and clearances to play before the following Monday morning.
These were necessary to have in order to for him to receive a uniform and
get him to the first practice that evening. It was the first Monday in
August and he has already missed the previous few weeks of conditioning with
the other boys. He also missed the opportunity to meet the coaches, the
staff and the players. He was starting off at a disadvantage - I was
worried.

Monday afternoon we played around with his uniform, putting it
on and off along with the helmet to get him used to the feel and the weight
of it all. I thought for sure with his sensory issues that he would hate the
helmet, also the weight and tightness of the shoulder pads - but to my
surprise there were no complaints.

Finally, it was time for his first practice, from 5 p.m. to 7:30
p.m. I think I was more nervous than he was. He was thoroughly excited, but
I couldn't help feeling scared for him!

Practice started with two fast laps around the football field.
He started out so much better than I expected, knowing that he has never
done any distance running in his life. Today he was running with full pads
on, a helmet and a mouthpiece in. Just over half way he began to walk, he
was visibly winded. He caught his breath and began to run again, long arms
swinging past his sides. He looked as if he could touch the ground with his
fingertips if only his arms were a bit longer. He later began to walk-ran
until he completed the two laps. He was visibly spent - so much more than
the other boys.

Now it was time for stretching and calisthenics. This was
comical and I thanked God for putting Michael at the back of the group. I
also thanked him for allowing the coach who yelled at him for not "clapping"
at exercise completion and screaming "Aaaaaaah-right" like the rest of the
boys when prompted, the patience to understand that Michael just didn't know
what was going on.

Michael did well, all things considered. First, he couldn't hear
the player calling out the stretches to be completed. Second, he was still
getting comfortable moving with all his football gear on - especially the
chewy mouthpiece. Third, he had no idea what the "secretary" and other oddly
named stretches even were.

It was time to move on to running drills - as a "side line" mom
I called them "whistle drills". The boys were lined up and there was no
separation of pee wee, Junior Varsity or Varsity players. The league maximum
weight is 149 pounds and I believe there are boys in the eighth grade on the
Varsity team. Michael, being one of the youngest boys on the field, was
certainly not the smallest on the field, so he did not look to only be 8
years old. The boys were told to "high skip run", "karaoke run" (I used to
call this grapevine when I played volleyball); and to run backwards. The
conclusion of each of these drills resulted in a loud blast of the coach's
whistle. Michael slowly jogged through each drill to the apparent eye
rolling of so many of the boys on the field. Painful as this was for me to
watch, he made it through these drills and they boys were sent off to
perform "station" drills.

Michael went slowly and looked as though he didn't want to get
his shoes dirty as he moved through the drills. Each one contained movements
and body mechanics he was totally unprepared for and I cringed each time he
was yelled at for not performing them properly. I waited and waited for
instruction to occur. I waited for a coach to step up and help this young
boy find the correct body position for "ready" and "down". Michael was
floundering and I was standing on the sideline feeling so incredibly
helpless. I wanted to run out there and physically put his feet into correct
position, to help him bend down to get into a 3-point stance, and to nudge
him each time the whistle blew so he knew that meant to run - and run fast.
But on the other hand, I didn't want to be "that mom" that ran out onto the
field to save her little boy. I wanted Michael to learn how to handle things
on his own. I wanted Michael to know he could do this purely because he
wanted to do it.

The worst came when he had to run up a steep hill. Michael got
left in this drill three times in a row for not being able to complete it.
He simply couldn't make it up the hill without stopping and using his hands
to climb up the hill. He also couldn't run down the steep hill. At one
point, I saw a coach get angry with Michael's inability to make it up the
hill and that was my breaking point. Michael ended up pin wheeling and
landing on his hands and knees at the bottom of the hill, someone called him
a baby and there I was at his side to save him. 'What was I doing?' was all
I could think. This will only make him look like a bigger baby in front of
the other boys. No one else's Mommy is out on the field "saving them" from
drills. But, then again, no other boy has been held back at the hill more
than one time through. I walked with Michael back to where I was sitting. As
we walked, I could hear him sniffle and cry. He tried to take my hand, God
forgive me, but I couldn't let him hold my hand. I patted him on his
shoulder pads and told him that everything would be ok. I didn't want to
give any of the other boys a reason to call him a baby. I sat him down in my
chair, took his helmet off and gave him some water.

One of the team Moms came over to ask if he was ok. I simply
explained that this was his very first practice and that he wasn't at any of
the conditioning, so this was overwhelming for him. I left him sitting there
with his eleven year old sister and went to talk to the head coach. I told
Andy, the head coach for the whole Mustang league, that Michael has High
Functioning Autism and just wasn't prepared for the intensity of this
practice. He was very understanding and told me that he would talk to the
other coaches and that things would be handled.

Michael gained his composure and wanted to go back out there to
join his teammates. I was expecting him to say, "Take me home." He was able
to finish practice just fine, blending in with the other boys his age and
size. I was very proud of his ability to go back out there, ready to play
and learn. The last drill for the evening was a run up yet another steep
hill. As Michael struggled another player on the league, Noah a 6th grader,
ran up the hill to join my son and help him complete his drill. This brought
tears to my eyes, acceptance, friendship, teammates, just what I had prayed
for.

That evening I put him in an Epsom salts bath to soothe his sore feet and
ankles. The very next morning he woke up and said, "Mom, what time's
practice?"

[stilldancing_98]

I totally agree. Some people just want to be good people. That is what we are about right?

[Georgiagirl88]

I agree with you Stilldancing!! You are both very kind, sweet people. It is a shame that everyone cannot have BIG hearts!! And to be kind to one another!! Some people just don't get it! There always has to be a few bad apples in the bunch!! But the rest are sweet! : )

Michelle : ))

[ziggidypoo]

Ya'll are alright, a wee bit different, but different is good.

*****************************
"Live and let live"
http://www.myspace.com/ziggidypoo

******************************

[Dutch mom]

My deepest respect for those two dancers.

What an inspirational, beautiful performance this is!

http://www.voshy.com/videos/view.php...-Dancing_nobac

p.s.
Don't let him distract you, do pay attention to her too, many people don't notice at first they're both special.

[Stacy]

HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!! I LOVE Singin in the Rain! Bern groans every time I start singing from it.

[Cinnabar]

Stacy,

Why don't you bring out the umbrella and tap dance! That will really drive him crazy. While we drive him crazy enough, here, I'm sure he groans but with crazy love for you!

Always, Laurie

[Cinnabar]

Thank You Birdbomb - I am definetly sending this to a friend who needs to hear this! Thank you

[Bernard]

[Cinnabar]

"Kind words are the music of the soul." F.W. Faber

[Cinnabar]

The Bene Gesserit Littainy against Fear

I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer.
Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.
I will face my fear.
I will permit it to pass over me and through me.
And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path.
Where the fear has gone there will be nothing.
Only I will remain.

I've always said it's easy for me to let anger pass through me. And it does. I will now be applying this to fear. What a great littainy.

[Cinnabar]

"I saw an angel in the marble and carved until I set him free" Michelangelo

[stilldancing_98]

You can use the method of mindful breathing to make the seed of this other energy grow inside you. It will then manifest in the form of energy, and this energy will embrace you energy of anger like a mother taking a baby in her arms. Then there is only tenderness, there is no fighting with, or dicriminating against, the pain. The purpose of the practice of mindful breathing is to give birth to this precious energy that illuminates us.