The Dis Center

When my Madison was about two years old we had gone shopping at the local grocery store. I, being tired, was caught up in the exercise of unloading my groceries onto the conveyer when I noticed a young man having a conversation with my girl as she sat patiently in the cart. This young man was in his twenties and had down-syndrome. (We call it up-sydrome after a documentary we saw of the same title.) Anywho, Madison and this young man were communicating in gibberish but both seemed, not using specific words, to have a understanding of each other in a way that stunned me for a moment as I became immersed in watching the exchange. They spoke to each other as two old friends having met after years of seperation. Concluding the conversation, he hugged Maddie goodbye and she returned his hug. I was in such awe of what transpired that I went home and wrote in my journal. "She has a gift of understanding for these folks who have come to earth with no need to be tested." A gift that does not hail from her mother-dribble on others scares me. 14 years later my Maddie is called to assist once a week at the disablilty center for a one year commitment. I ask her to think about this commitment and is it something she willingly will do for such a lengthy period of time. A resounding yes without even a thought. That's my girl! We attend the Sacrament Meeting at the Center as they will announce her calling and I go with as her lone companion. She is concerned for me as I admittedly and ashamedly say I get quisey around "these people." (See? It doesn't come from me.) Now the charming part of my experience is to follow. The chapel host wide aisles around the perimeter of the pews. This is so the "members" who are in wheel chairs can "park" there along with their volunteer aide. They are donned in bright colored blankets of the sunniest orange, bright electric blue or Disney characters spattered on the velour coverings. There IS dribble. The meeting begins and so do the duck calls. Yes, behind me sat a qaucker. Then the "caws-caws" sound and the barking and the mewing. And for the remaining hour of service I felt like I was in the middle of a South American jungle. The sounds increased as the hymns were sung as if their spirits couldn't wait to join in the praises to our Father in song. My heart softened and pride for my daughter was so intense that tears sprang to my eyes faster then I could wipe them away. She has done many great things in her short life but to serve these who are in desperate need of service and do it with a purity of love for them that she offers, even now brings tears to my eyes. It means something, this thing she is doing. Her other accomplishments were good but this is real. Proud. But even now I reflect that there may be something to how the enjoy sacrament.  Wouldn't you love to "qauck" when the speaker goes to long? Or make jungle sounds when the Bishop talk is too long winded? Or sing hymns with nonsensical words at your loudest and proudest ? I know I would.........I'm just saying!! ( A few cheerios thrown in wouldn't hurt either!) I am proud of my girl. She is doing something meaningful, something I couldn't do. So when I say go and do-I don't mean Maddie because she already has!