Monica and David...

Sterling, Kelly, Kyle & Alaina after screening of Monica & David

...and Kyle and Alaina and Kelly and Sterling and Kara and Clyde and...

Thursday was the debut of the HBO documentary telling the story of two young adults who fell in love and got married. 

What's the big deal?  Happens every day, doesn't it?

Not when the bride and groom both have Down syndrome. 

So our living room was packed with Ranchers wanting to see Monica and David the moment it came on the air.  Their interest ranged from simple curiosity to a desperate desire to do the same.

Though still rare, marriage between people with intellectual disabilities is becoming more common.  Parents and professionals are realizing the unfairness of standing in the way of people who may be handicapped in many ways, but not when it comes to forging bonds of love.

Some might even say that's a specialty of people with Down syndrome.

And what better qualification is there?  I once heard a good marriage defined as being "a union of two good forgivers." It reminded me that when our priest was preaching on the need to forgive 70 times seven, Jerry and I agreed that Kelly was the only person in our family capable of doing that.

We focus on the peripheral stuff: Can they cook? Can they keep a clean house? Can they manage their money?

Could you when you first got married?  I could barely boil water.

The central issue has got to be this: Can they love over the long haul?

From where I sit, I'd have to give that one an unequivocal yes.

Be Not Afraid

Last week was hard for me.  There was strife and I don't like strife.  There were disagreements and I don't like disagreements.  By the end of the week I was anxious and unable to sleep.

And fearful.

Never mind what's going on.  It's nothing that hasn't happened before and it will surely happen again.  The problem is that I let the fear eat me up, so much so that, not only didn't I avail myself of strategies to overcome it, I forgot they even existed.

Monday Jerry asked several of us staff to please reread the chapter of Covey's The 7 Habits of Highly Successful People, specifically Habit Five: "Seek First to Understand, Then to be Understood." 

I didn't.  Things didn't improve.

But Friday I was talking with a friend, who thanked me for putting him onto Don't Bite the Hook, by Pema Chodron, a series of CDs that deal with overcoming anger and resentment, both of which come from...fear.

"Oh!" I remembered.  "I should listen to those now."

Duh.

On Saturday friends arrived from Dallas.  I'd met them at a conference, and we spent the day walking around the Ranch, getting to know one another better, and discussing our spiritual journeys over dinner, which thankfully reminded me that I actually had one.

Then this morning they accompanied us to church--St. Louis Catholic in Austin.  I went in early to practice with the choir and on the way I listened intently to my CDs, beginning to reconnect with my saner self. 

We'd assured our friends that Fr. Larry was a superb homilist, so expectations were high, but I must say today he knocked it out of the park.

The gospel reading today concerned Jesus sending out the 72 disciples to do the work of the gospel in His name, and bearing His authority.

When time for the homily came, Fr. Larry moseyed out into the congregation and plopped himself down in a pew next to the parishioners.  There was nervous laughter, Fr. Larry being a stickler for liturgical correctness. 

"Just wanted to see what it looked like from here," he said.  "Looks different."

He then threatened to pass the preaching baton to a parishioner at the end of the pew, suggesting they "change roles" for a while.  He backed off before the man had a heart attack then and there.

Assuming his normal station at the pulpit, Fr. Larry then recounted two stories.

The first concerned the battleship which received an instruction to change course.  The commander replied, "Suggest you change course."

"Change course," came the reply.

"I'm in command of a battleship," sent the commander, "you change course!"

"I'm in command of a lighthouse," came the last communication.

The second concerned a man with three small children on a subway at night.  As he sat passively on his seat staring at his shoes, his children ran amuck, disturbing other passengers.

"Really, you should control those children!" said an outraged woman.

The man looked up and said, "Oh, I'm sorry.  It's just that we've just left the hospital where their mother died, and I don't know what to do."

Suddenly, in both cases, as with a kaleidoscope turning, all the facts fell together to form a very different version of reality.  The commander quite willingly changed course.  The woman was no doubt suffused with compassion.  The paradigm had shifted.

I recognized those stories right away.  They are both discussed in, yes, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People.

"This is no coincidence," I thought.

Fr. Larry went on to explain what a paradigm shift the commission of the 72 disciples experienced.  Until then, they'd been followers, listeners, witnesses to Jesus' work.  Now they were being asked to assume a completely new role--to do the work of Jesus in the Name of Jesus, empowered by their faith in Jesus, who told them they should not fear, because He would always be with them, even unto the end of the world.

After communion, the choir sang Mozart's Ave Verum Corpus.  If I learned that heaven would consist of nothing more than singing the Ave Verum Corpus for all eternity that would be fine with me.

For post-communion, with the congregation, we sang My Country, T'is of Thee, today being the Fourth of July.  I choked up on the second verse and scarcely made it back in before the end.

The recessional was America, the Beautiful.  If there was a dry eye in the house, I couldn't see it for my own.

Guest organist Peter Guy, a hugely talented young Australian on concert tour, finished off with a postlude, Widor's Toccata.  All of the choir and most of the congregation stayed around to hear it, and as people finally began to filter out of church I caught up with Jerry and crew.  Our friends looked dazed, and Jerry quipped, "Heck of a show for a buck!" referring to an old stewardship joke.

Someone once said that the opposite of love is not hatred, but fear.  Fear leads us to lose faith--in ourselves and in others.  Fear cuts us off--from ourselves and from others. 

Fear is the siren song of despair.

I say mea culpa for falling prey to fear, and hope I've learned a lesson this week.  I give thanks for friends and faith, for my church and priest, for my husband's wisdom and patience, and all the good things that have brought me back home.

The sermons of Fr. Larry Covington are available through the church web site:

http://www.st-louis.org/homilies.htm

If I Needed You

Whew.

Yesterday was Jerry’s birthday, the end of a long month of family birthdays.

Out of 16 members of our immediate family (Jerry and I, our four daughters, three sons-in-law, six grandkids, and one grandson-in-law) nine of us are blessed with birthdays in the merry month of May.

(Actually, I suspect the really merry month was September, when the kids went back to school. "Another cup of coffee, hon'?")

Whatever, every year it’s like a second Christmas season, except this one doesn’t happen on one day, it’s spread from the third to the 24th, with three on the 15th alone! Generally by the time we get to Jerry’s, everyone is tired of revelry, and broke anyway, so not much attention is paid and then we all feel guilty and have to redeem ourselves on Father’s Day.

You can always count on Kelly, however, to make the day.

Not that she was particularly cooperative this year. Sunday I invited her and Sterling over for the birthday supper Monday night but—egad—Monday night is Wal-Mart night! How could Wal-Mart night have not been foremost in my conciousness!?

“It’s OK, Kel,” I said. “Just wrap your present for Dad and make him a card. Do you want to sing the morning song for him with me?”

“What time?” she asked dubiously.

“About 4:30 would be good,” I teased.

“Mo-om!” she groaned, stamping her foot. “We don’t sing at 4:30 in the morning!”

“Well, as soon as you get here then,” I said.

Monday morning we had important meetings starting at 8:00, so Jer was out the door scarce before I could plant a birthday kiss on the cheek, just as the whippoorwill was ending his morning serenade at Michael’s back window in Barnabas House.

At 6:35 I hear a knock on the door and Kelly is standing there in pajamas and slippers, clutching her present and the card she’d made for Dad.

“Sorry, babe, we missed him, but let me get a picture of you for him,” I said. Kelly balked  at this but the camera was handy so I didn’t detain her for long and soon off she pedaled, up the hill and back to bed.

When I read the card she’d made, I knew we had another masterpiece on our hands.

Kelly’s cards are always very creative, often touching, and each a true original. They usually manage to sum up with a request for the recipient to assist Kelly with managing some important aspect of her life.

Happy Birthday Dad

72 is a cool age

for

a

wonderful

special

dad

I’ve

got

since

1984

and

I

do

love you

very much

with all of

my heart and

my life too

I want my dad to be happy.

Jerry Wayland Horton

May 24th

1938

72 years ago

Your mom my grandma had a miracle is you Dad then you

were my mom’s birthing coach

got me out that

is why

how much Sterling loves

you a lot and so do I

you’re

always

going

to be my Dad forever

when you walk me

down the aisle

on

my wedding day

I want to marry Sterling

can you and Mom give me away to Sterling he will

take care of me I won’t forget to …(can’t make out last word.)

The “birthing coach” part is true. Jerry speaks often and eloquently about how very hard he worked as my birthing coach, fetching cups of ice, rubbing my back and feet, and performing other acts of mercy and kindness over the long hours of labor, which left him completely exhausted and in severe need of liquid refreshment.

But I digress.

Jerry and I went on to have a lovely evening together, just the two of us.

I’d picked blackberries and made a proper pie for him, and it turned out very well indeed. He opened his presents, over which he professed great delight—none more than Kelly’s and her card—and we picked up the guitar and sang a few tunes together just for old time’s sake, and learned a new one—Townes van Zandt’s "If I Needed You."

It was a sweet evening.

We do need each other, so much. We’re glad our girl has her place in the world that we’d dreamed of, and that Monday night is Wal-Mart night, and not to be messed with.

We are secure in her love, and in each other’s, and who could ask for more?