Before this Earth

". . . my attention turned to other spirits making preparations to go to earth. One exceptionally brilliant and dynamic spirit was just entering his mother's womb. He had chosen to enter this world mentally handicapped. He was very excited about this opportunity and was aware of the growth he and his parents would achieve. The three of them had bonded with each other and planned for this arrangement long before. He chose to begin his mortal life at his body's conception, and I watched his spirit move into the womb and enter the newly formed life. He was anxious to feel the great love of his mortal parents."

Eadie, Betty, J. (1992). Embraced By The Light, USA:Gold Leaf Press, 94-95

Weak Body, Strong Spirit

Real strength doesn't come from our physical bodies, it comes from our spirits. Even though our bodies may be physically weak, they house strong spirits.

Before David's birth, I wanted to know who he was. One night as I lay on my bed quietly pondering, I received some distinct spiritual impressions. I sensed he was a strong, determined, warrior-like spirit, similar to Teancum of old. I was told even though he'd arrive in a small, fragile body, he was a strong, mature spirit. I marveled at this information and imagined him one day serving a mission as a great spiritual warrior.

And then the awful complications of his birth. . .

. . . a stroke and oxygen deprivation.

When I saw my baby for the first time he was attached to life-support machines in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit(NICU). (I'd just been released from Intensive Care myself, and was now allowed to visit my baby.) He lay peacefully nestled amidst a maze of tubes and wires. At the center of all this medical equipment was the most perfect angel I'd ever seen.

The lights in the NICU had been lowered. Within this soft twilight, David's body shone. He was filled with light and radiated a warm glow. His eyes were closed, and he had a fine brush of light brown hair. Immediately I noticed his little upturned chin. It was Rob's chin, complimented by a cute button nose. I marveled at how long his toes were. So unlike my short, stubby ones. And each slender finger, so perfectly formed.

At 7.1 pounds and 20 inches he looked too big to have fitted inside me.

Could he really be mine?

Now that I'd seen him the thought of letting him go was even more unbearable. In all my attempts to imagine his face, I could not have conjured up a masterpiece so magnificent as the person who lay before me. My heart swelled. Seized with joy I felt the power of maternal love flood my being. Pure and strong.

My arms ached to hold him and my bosom longed to soak up the warmth of his being. But he belonged to all those machines and medical attendants.

I remembered the impressions I'd received prior to his birth--that he was a strong, determined, warrior-like spirit. I'd imagined him fighting great spiritual battles. But now I realized he was engaged in a physical battle as he fought for his life. I reminded myself even though his body was weak and fragile, it housed a strong, mature spirit. I determined to put my faith in this strength and prayed his spirit would triumph and remain with us in mortality.

Thought for the month

“Some of those who have required much waiting upon in this life may be waited upon in the next world—but for the highest of reasons.”

(Neal A. Maxwell, “A More Determined Discipleship,” Ensign, Feb. 1979, 79‒73)

My David

David is a beautiful child, with deep blue eyes, sun-streaked hair and a smile that infuses delight. He loves to run and jump and climb. He lives life with an intensity that is contagious, abounding in exhilaration and enthusiasm. I can't help but revel in his joy.

 

But when I'm around his peers, a relentless pain starts gnawing in my gut. A harsh reminder he's not the same.

 

I marvel at other kids. They are so advanced and skilled. Speaking in complex sentences they engage in elaborate games of their own imaging. Toilet-training and self-feeding are no longer issues. They walk alongside the shopping cart at the store and stay on the playground at the park. Birthdays and Christmas are days of celebration--they love receiving gifts and know how to open them. Their heads turn when you call their name, and they look into your eyes when you speak to them . . . 

 

 

. . . they call it AUTISM.

 

 

 

 www.designbyravenmuse.com/autism_graphics.htm