Independent Storytelling

 This week, I had the privilege of participating in the Sundance Film Festival Student Screenings.  They were held in the Rose Wagner Theater in SLC. It was our last chance since the festival is moving to Colorado.  It was the first Sundance festival since the passing of its founder, Robert Redford.  It is the end of a glorious era where independent filmmakers descended upon Park City once a year.  I am sad about that. But it does not diminish what I experienced recently.

 I divided our students into three different groups to increase supervision and safety, which meant I got to see three different screenings! 1. "American Pachuco-The Legend of Luis Valez" 2. AI Doc-Or How I Became an Apocaloptimist" and 3. "Queen of Chess". We were watching these independent movies for their initial screenings.  It is most satisfying when the same movie I took the students to last year, "Deaf President Now" is now being streamed on Apple+.  I saw it first before it was purchased. What a unique opportunity!

Besides the youthful energy of being in an auditorium full of 9th-12th graders, there is a distinct, electrifying energy during the Q&A session with the producers, directors, actors, etc. of each film.  This is what makes it special! This is what makes it magical!  Many of the students don't really understand what they are experiencing.  It goes over their head and doesn't land in their heart.  But for me, well...that is why I want to write.

These films were curated by the festival organizers especially for teenagers.    They were all excellent! World Class!  Important! Powerful!  Essential!   Each documentary was educational, entertaining and engaging.  More than just learning facts about Chicano history and dramatics,  AI, and chess, each movie was deeply infused with the spirit of what Sundance is all about-independent storytelling. I also saw a common thread of family within the larger context of the human family.  

Day One: "American Pachuco-The Legend of Luis Valdez".  Luis used his art to give us a window into Chicano experience. Starting with a simple elementary school project of making a paper mache puppet  to later writing and directing the box office hit, "La Bamba".   The documentary illustrated our DBT focus of validating others by increasing understanding of unique perspectives and the power of expressive arts. 

More than a rehearsal of Chicano social history and dramatic art, the film illustrated how Luis's family history informed and directed his art. His connections to his brother and the conflict between two different American experiences were illustrated in the movie, "La Bamba."   He brought his people together through his art and fostered awareness of social inequity.  In a time of ICE raids, it addressed the question of what it means to be an American and how determining who belongs here is not a matter of skin color. 

 The Q&A after the show was extra special, especially when the director, David Alvarados, singled out our school and spoke directly to our students, inspiring them in their creative pursuits and life success.  We also received a special box of Sundance swag.  It couldn't get better than this.

Day 2:  "AI Doc:  Or How I Became an Apocaloptomist"

This was the film that initially looked most interesting, but I shied away from it due to content warnings.  A young teacher really encouraged us to attend anyway and I decided to take the older boys.  I'm so glad we did!  It was perfectly alligned with our DBT group focus of using,"Wise Mind".  It also illutrated dialectics with the peril and promise of AI.  Once again, I appreciated the personal story of one of the academy award winning directors, Daniel Roher.  Though the movie includes interviews from top AI experts, he used his marriage relationship and birth of his first son as a backdrop for exploring these AI issues.  I noticed a reference to his impulsivity of rushing into marriage and how the world is rushing into AI.  The movie reinforces DBT ideas of reducing impulsivity by using our collective Wise Mind, being "mature" and walking a middle, balanced path.

I was star struck when I realized the Q&A was with the same filmakers who won Academy Awards for"Everything Everwhere All at Once."  These guys are huge in the industry and here they were standing right in front of me looking like everyday normal people.  They also had one of the important AI experts from the film on stage with the director.  It was pretty magical when these same people approached our group in the lobby and asked us how we liked their film and let the teacher take a picture with them.  Wow!  

Day 3:  "Queen of Chess".  Our group focus was ABC- Accumulate Positive Emotion (by acting according to values), Build Mastery, Cope Ahead.  It was pretty easy to discover how the subject of the documentary was a prime example of using each of these skills.  We learned about Judit Polgar, a Hungarian chess grandmaster, the strongest female chess player of all time. I accuse my students of being oblivious to all things important but truth is I'm pretty oblivious as well.  I didn't know the name.  Though vaguely familiar, I also didn't know the name of Rory Kennedy, the filmaker. 

 Once again, far from being a movie about chess, It was Judit's life story and her experience of being raised in communist Hungary with a father bent on experimenting to create genius in each of his three daughters. I appreciated her focus and accomplishment. I thrilled to the themes of female empowerment and fem punk songs.  I appreciated her journey of discovery as she identified additional values and became an incredible human being.  The Q&A included a life size zoom call from Judit answering questions from the students. She is larger than life so it was fitting to see her full screen!

 Rory was on stage to answer questions as well. She encouraged students to protest againt Trump and encourage the rule of law.  I thought she just looked like one of those Sundance celebrity producer/director types who was also an activist. The Q&A took a different format than the other two days as they had a moderator ask direct questions and call on students, instead of using cellphones.  It was more controlled.  At first, I was a little confused that Netflix had already purchased the film and is showing it next month on their streaming service. While driving the students back to campus,  I wondered if Rory was related to the famous Kennedy's. 

That evening I googled Rory Kennedy and was blown away.  She is THE 11th child of Bobby Kennedy! She owns her own production company, Moxie Firecracker Films so of course she wasn't looking for a buyer at the Sundance Festival.  I watched her documentary on her mother, Ethel Kennedy. I was inspired.   Rory Kennedy is a power player.  She embodies the mission of both of her parents in a lifetime of independent film making and activism. In fact, when Amy Redford, daughter of Robert Redford, was interviewed recently about the upcoming festival, she specifically mentioned Rory Kennedy's documentary, "Queen of Chess."  And here, I almost didn't see it because I thought it might be "too boring" for our students. 

My participation in the Sundance Festival has enriched my life.  People are amazing!  I am inspired by personal stories told by amazing filmakers.  Ultimately, we are all independent storytellers as we write our personal histories each day of our life, with each choice. Though Sundance is going away, independent storytelling never will.  We are here to stay!

"Hey Dad, Dead Dad-I Need a Little Help Here."

I couldn't resist a musical reference to the Beetlejuice's "Dead Mom" song, especially because I've been thinking about dead dads lately.  My father's birthday was yesterday, January 4th.  He died so young at only 65 years old!   I would have loved to have been able to talk with him for the last 25 years.  I surely have needed a "little help here" on earth.  And I'm positive he would have been there for me, as he was throughout his life.  A vivid example of his help was his generous financial support while I attended Brigham Young University right after high school.  He would have much preferred me to go down the street to our local, almost free, Long Beach City College.  However, my dad supported my dreams and goals, even if he complained.   How I miss him!

Jeffrey R. Holland, recently deceased (December 27, 2025) was BYU president during my important years of my university education.  But he was much more than my president.  He was sort of like a dad to me.  I know I was just one of 25, 000 students but when he spoke, I felt like he was speaking to me personally.  His passionate and fiery testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ, fueled my own fire of faith.  It was like electricity surging through our bodies when he spoke in the Marriot Center at BYU.  Even though we were all part of his professional stewardship, it felt like he cared about the one just as much as the masses. We knew he loved us.  I knew he loved me, like a father loves a child.  It was an honor and privilege to be part of his BYU flock.  

It was absolutely no surprise when he was called as one of the twelve apostles for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.   It was fun for others to discover his fire, his eloquence, his powerful teaching and most importantly, his powerful witness of Jesus Christ.  Of course he was my favorite! Many apostles and prophets have died during my lifetime, but I mourned Jeffrey R. Holland's death in a different way.  It was personal and I felt like I had a unique relationship with him.  I really didn't, I mean I'm just one in a sea of past students, but still, it meant something to me.

I had an experience several years ago that seemed to sum up this connection to Jeffrey R. Holland. I was a young mom struggling to get to church sacrament meeting on time with my 5 children, ages 5-12.  We were late, as usual, and I scurried to the front row pew in the chapel with my chaotic tribe.  I was frazzled and unorganized but tried to settle down.  Then I looked up to the stand. Sitting right in front of me next to our bishop, was Jeffrey R. Holland.  I don't know why he was visiting this particular ward as an unexpected visitor, but he was there.  As a visiting authority, he gave his testimony and some words of counsel.  I was close enough to see into his big blue eyes and he could definately see me and my children.  It was the closest I had ever been, I definately wasn't one of the 25, 000 in a basketball arena seeing him through the jumbo-tron.  

After the meeting, I went up to shake his hand and tell him that I had been one of his BYU students.  He responded with words, "I claim every one of my BYU students forever." (or something like that).  These loving words were coupled with a warm handshake and hug.  It confirmed in my heart and mind, that yes, he was like my BYU dad.  

Both of these "dead dads" helped me in different ways. Though these two men were very different, they both gave me a glimpse of what my own Father in Heaven is really like.  Through their example of fathering, they helped Heavenly Father feel more real to me-more tangible in my life.  Both of them taught me about how my Father in Heaven feels about me.  Oh, how I know, God, my Father loves and cares about me.  And though I cannot talk or listen to my dead dads anymore in a way I would like, I can turn to the one who will never die, my Eternal Father.  One that continues to answer my plea for "a little help here."   

$200

Last month, when I was running around like a crazy person at our "Battle of the Bands," I had $200 stolen from my briefcase.  I didn't notice it missing until that evening when I went to have my hair colored.  I assumed it was one of my impulsive students who just couldn't resist the temptation to steal cash.  I had such a sinking feeling when I realized I had been robbed.  It was hard to describe the feeling of loss, violation, and disappointment, quickly coalescing into a distinct pit in my stomach. I should have been more careful.  I should never carry cash in my wallet.  Stupid.  I certainly shouldn't have left my bags unattended anywhere near the vicinity of my students.  Nevertheless, what was done, was done. I alerted staff to be on the lookout and continued to get my hair colored to the tune of $160!  So expensive for me!

That evening, I was awakened by a memory. I saw two distinct dollar bills.  I touched them!  Right near the beginning of our music performances I grabbed my briefcase and sat directly in back of the judges.  I noticed two bills directly underneath the judge's feet.  I motioned to the young adult judge to pick up the bills saying, "You dropped some money."  Another therapist even witnessed it.  The judge picked it up.  I didn't think anything of it UNTIL I realized that was probably MY $200 bills.  The next morning I sent a text to the organizer asking him to reach out to the judges, fully expecting that at least the judge guy would say, "Oh yeah,  I picked that up".  Or at least offer some explanation whether it was indeed my $200 or his own cash.  I waited for a response.  Crickets.  Nothing.  The organizer finally texted back that each of the three judges hadn't picked anything up off the floor or seen any cash laying around. 

This time I felt sick.  Are you kidding me?  I SAW the judge pick up the cash!  I can understand the impulsive students taking it out of my bag-but dishonesty from the adults?  It made me feel sick inside.   My best guess is that one of the boys took it out of my wallet that was in my briefcase.  When they saw me pick it up, I think they may have felt remorse when they realized it was "Erin's bag".  Maybe they didn't want to steal from me. So using their stupid teenager brain,  as one of the boys went to the restroom, he passed by me and discretely dropped the two bills on the floor where I might find it.  AND I DID!  But I thought it was the judges money!  

Regardless, it was gone.  With time, it became a humorous story.  People felt bad for me.  My tenant, felt sorry for me so she paid her rent early.  My boss said she would find a way to get my $200 back to me.  Throughout the month, it was like the video, "Windows of Heaven" where cash rained down on me, specifically in the specific amount- $200.  I was glad I had been one of the first people to sign up for tithing declaration in October!

The first $200 came that evening as my son paid back a prior loan for the exact amount of $200.  Then the same week, my mother sent a check for the exact amount of "$200".  Then my boss gave me $200 worth of gift cards right before my trip to Boston.  Then when returning from my trip, my son gave me $200 worth in cash along with a big hug at the gas station.  Then last week, while in the residential directors' office, they whipped out another gift card for $200 "just because". So for the initial $200 loss, I received $1000- all in $200 chunks.  

Talk about being financially blessed, financially supported, financially protected!  I think that is pretty amazing.  Of course, it all comes and goes so easily.  Most of it has already been paid out again to other adult children for various needs.  But I have to, I must recognize God's hand in this financial blessing.  It was not just a coincidence.  And to make it clear, the $200 symbolic gesture was repeated at least FIVE different times!  I am grateful for his generous care as he works through the GENEROUS HEARTS of my fellow human beings.  How gracious is our God!  

Chaos and Order

 This morning I was thinking about chaos and order.  Chaos so close to home and events so close together is cause to pause and think. The assassination of Charlie Kirk,  the Michigan church shooting, and an Orem Jr. High student suicide on a school field trip have been sources of great anxiety.  How do we calm our own hearts? Where do we turn for peace?  How do we move forward?  How do we keep the children safe? 

I have my primary song answers.  I first turn to God through prayer.  I cling to my covenant relationship with Christ and his gospel. I find safety in keeping the commandments. I try to make a difference in my own little corner of the world in spreading light, life, and love.  I find refuge and peace as I gather with the Saints at church and in the temple. 

A day before the shooting, President Russel Nelson, our prophet died at age 101. In all this commotion, members of the church of Jesus Christ gathered around the world and tuned in to General Conference for answers, for peace.  There was some speculation about a new prophet and a new apostle and how the church would respond to the recent chaotic events around the world. 

What impressed me about this General Conference and our current president of the Quorum of the Twelve, was a profound sense of order.  There is a certain way the Lord does things through his priesthood.  There was no frenzied rush to call a new first presidency, appoint an additional apostle, or announce new temples, policies, or procedures.  The messages are rooted in Christ and his gospel, preached by His authorized servants.  There is no panic.  The church is prepared and is helping all of us prepare.  

I am so grateful for this measured, calm, orderly response.  Not impulsive, but grounded in prioritized values and eternal realities.  I'm like a child looking at his parent to figure out how to respond to all this stress-all this mess.  The church is that parent for me.  I watch and try to emulate the calm as I navigate chaos. There is so much I cannot control, but there are things I can influence and even put in order.  

Though God is in control, I'm glad he does not control our choices.  It makes for a messy, chaotic world but for everything and everyone who will listen and respond to His voice, there is a great ordering.  For that is how the Great Creator brought the cosmos into existence-order from chaos. 

Baby Moments

 Happy Birthday to Sonny and Rooney! They are my grandbaby twins born on the same day, same half hour, but in different hospitals to different parents!  I've had so many precious moments with them during the past two years.  I don't do well capturing these moments with my cell phone camera, yet these moments of light and love make an impression on the invisible camera plate in my soul.  These small moments are mere snapshots of experience, but are still worth remembering.  These moments also form and strengthen our bond. I see them, and they see me. 

Not simply spectating as they grow up,  the moments I'm referring to are the ones where we see and experience the world together.  We increase our mutual understanding by being in each other's presence and find simple joy in it.  Here are a few recent snapshots:

Moment of Comfort: Noticing Rooney's reluctance to go to Nursery and holding him close, assuring him things would be okay as I stayed with him.  It's pretty easy to see his trembling lip and shaking body to discern his fear.  I don't want to say a hug absorbs the fear, but it does help me get closer to their feelings in an effort to understand and respond.  I see you.  I got you.  I'm there for you.  

Moment of Delight: Later that hour, we played "Ring a Round the Rosie" for the first time with Rooney during this same Nursery class.  He was all lit up, wanting to do it again and again.  It was a joyful moment of simple delight.  

Moment of Work: It's one thing to point to a firetruck or see a firefighter mow the grass in front of the station.  It's another thing to witness the same firefighters respond to a call and watch them in action.  Sonny and I (and the 2 dogs) watched from the stroller as they calmly and quickly put on their pants, coats, and hats, jumped in the truck, and turned on the lights and sirens.  

Moments of Patience:  It's not easy to not get what you want when you want it or even at all.  Sonny has a loud, piercing cry (like the siren of a fire truck) when things don't go his way.  Even if it was only a short distance until he could ride his new bike on a more suitable surface (basketball court) rather than the thick grass, he still had to learn and wait.  It was great to see him understand and redirect his attention.  

Moment of Wonder:  Witnessing the Tracy Aviary Bird show from the first row with Sonny.  How thrilling it was for Sonny and me to have large birds of prey swoop over our heads and see them up close.  I held Sonny tightly in my lap so he would feel secure as he experienced new sights and sounds. 

Moment of Learning: Throughout the past seasons, I have enjoyed taking Sonny to the City Center Library's story time.  It is a refuge amidst Salt Lake City's urban chaos. It is a Mecca of interactive play and learning spaces. I would even call it a sacred space with dedicated professionals leading thoughtful, interactive, educational experiences for babies and toddlers.  We have had many learning moments together while singing, speaking, reading, writing, and playing.  

Moment of Pleasure:  Though I thought Rooney would enjoy making his first "Build a Bear", instead, he was terrified of the stuffing machine and overwhelmed. He experienced more joy running through the mall at full speed and sharing a Chick-fil-A kids' meal with Gram "E" in the food court.  I loved sitting close and looking into his eyes while holding the sauce as we dipped the nuggets and fries into the sauce.  We didn't need words.  Just a shared moment of pleasure. 

Though simple and small, these moments have great weight and meaning in my life. They give me a glimpse of what it means to have joy in my posterity, one by one. It is not a collective gathering of posterity to bask in their collective greatness.  At this time, I have the opportunity to bask in the individual greatness of their spirit as I spend time with them individually.   Rooney and Sonny are great! It is a privilege to be near them. It's about presence.  

It also reminds me how the Savior ministers to us one by one, individually. My testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ is based on these one-on-one moments of feeling His presence through His Spirit. They are fleeting moments, but they have made a lasting impression on my soul.   They are baby moments worth remembering.

Directing Energy- BOB Part 2

 BOB does not stand for "Bring Your Own Beer" though I suppose I could put this entry into my other "Bottles of Beer" blog centered on relationships. It serves the same purpose in trying to purge myself of all the angst related to my most recent involvement in Ascent Corporation's semi-annual "Battle of the Bands"...if even just to get the stupid songs off repeat in my brain at night.  

This entry would also nicely fit into my recent gratitude journal where I try to recognize the hand of the Lord in my life and in the lives of those around me.  Surely, it is a miracle when we even participate.  There are so many things out of my control and the stress comes as a frantically try to control it.  

I cannot control if students are open and willing to engage in groups with their already existing music abilities and intellect.  If they are willing, I cannot control if students will focus enough to learn basic, basic music skills.  I cannot control if our best musicians will manage their unsafe action impulses throughout the day/night to qualify for participation.   I cannot control if they can use the same skills and play cooperatively instead of fighting. I cannot control how they handle performance anxiety to sing on key or on beat.  I cannot control what they wear and how that might influence others.  I cannot control if they will have appropriate boundaries with others when interacting with the opposite sex.  I cannot control if they will manage their emotions successfully and not blow out during the event when things don't go their way.  In other words, I cannot control their behavior.  However, I sure try to use whatever tools are available to influence behavior- even if it is perceived as frantic, frenetic direction.  

Perhaps frantic, frenetic aren't the right adjectives regarding my direction.  I direct with all the energy of my heart and soul.  While observing this directing energy, one student asked point blank, "Erin are you autistic?"  When I said, "No, but I'm sure I have some type of ADHD".  That seemed to appease her a bit and explain why I was being "so energetic."  So weird. So extra.  Or as they would say in the 80's, "Erin, you need to take  a chill pill."

This same "directing energy" sometimes comes off as being too stressed out as evidenced by feedback from peers and supervisors. During the last two weeks, I've neglected other responsibilities in order to hyper-focus on the objective. I'm clearly not handling my responsibilities with serenity and grace.   But if I lay back and tone down the energy and chill, I can assure you, we just wouldn't go. Which is not some great devastating loss, but I don't want the students to miss out on such an amazing team building experiential experience! 

Surprisingly, once I'm at the event, I radically accept whatever outcome. I'm super chill, even "crazy cool."  Perhaps it's because it's too late to do anything.  I sit back and watch and appreciate the miracles or God's hand in this rock event. 

Miracle #1:  The off-tune student sang on tune and the last minute drummer kind of kept the beat.  The song wasn't horrible.

Miracle #2-My problem-solving compromises to keep the peace and stop the constant bickering between the "Swifties" and "Punk Rockers" seemed to appease everyone.  We did shortened versions of the songs and the organizers allowed it.  

Miracle #3- We didn't have any extreme dysregulation at the event.  Everyone kept their cool, even though F-words and threats flew, therapists helped, students were incentivised, and returned to their seat. 

Miracle #4- We didn't stand out as being the worst music program.  Through the advent of new leadership in several of the other programs, they weren't as prepared as usual-which worked to our advantage. (since we are never prepared.) This allowed our students to really feel like they belonged at the event and had something to give.

Miracle #5  The amazing male drummer was safe enough to attend, not only winning him the "Best Drummer Award" but allowing our Green Day song to win "Best Band Performance".  

Miracle #6:  Our boys program really came together to encourage all other performers.  They cheered loudly, raised their hands and swayed to each song.  They even tried to start a crowd wave.  They made it extra fun through their enthusiastic support. 

There are two personal miracles or at least memorable experiences to note as well.  The day before, we rehearsed our Linkin Park song, "Numb."  I was really trying to direct the newly eligible, awesome drummer to stay with the band (which he did NOT do the following day) using my over the top gestures, tambourine and dancing. I was all over the place like a frenetic orchestra conductor.  BUT it was FREAKING AWESOME!  And to boot, the CEO witnessed the song.  I will never forget how I felt. 

The second memorable experience was a passing comment by a bystander staff from another program.  While putting instruments back into our van, she came up to me in the parking lot and said how she has watched me over the years and thought to herself, "I want to be THAT lady."  That gracious comment warmed my heart.  

Throughout my life I have used enthusiastic energy to direct.  Some find this energy obnoxious and annoying.  Some students are so turned off by it, that it affects their willingness to participate in my groups.  How I miss them!  And they miss out on some great experiences and value added to their treatment.   Yet, if enthusiasm suggests, "God within", perhaps I'm trying to tap into his energy to influence outcomes. It is another evidence of how God works through ordinary people to let His Love, His Light, His Life shine through a cracked vessel.  I want to be THAT lady.  

Crying Out Loud

 I can hear the voice of my father exclaiming in frustration, "For Crying Out Loud Erin, Will you please ...(fill in the blank.)  I'm sure like most children, I did things that made my parents' job more difficult.  But lately, I've had some experiences in the last couple of weeks that have given new shape to this exclamation, "crying out loud."  

I am a loud person but most of the time when I cry, it is a silent expression.  Crying is one of my frequent expressions when I feel something deeply in my heart. Something triggers the emotion.  It pierces my heart, like an arrow-a good arrow hitting a spiritual nerve.  Something that feels true.  Something that feels right.  

Last week I participated in the nationwide "hand off" protest with my daughter.  She was meeting up with her friends at the Utah State Capitol.  They gave me a sign I was happy to hold saying, "We the people..in order to form a more perfect union- establish justice, ensure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare.  I had never been to a protest and found it pretty impressive to gather with so many others and read their very creative signs giving voice to their concerns.  

As a former cheerleader, it really just felt like a  glorified pep rally as we shouted in unison,  "Yay! or "Boo!" and waved our signs high in the air.  We listened to various speakers, listened to music, sang, and chanted.  I don't remember what the exact words were, but when our side of the mass yelled, "Just Fight!" I found myself crying out loud.  

I may have been extra sensitive to the concept of fighting for rights as I had just finished the mini series, "Sons of Liberty" and was reminded of the greatness in spirit, even the fighting spirit of our founding fathers.  But more than that, the whole protest experience reminded me of a familiar scene from my past. Long before my mortal birth I believe I stood in some type of mass gathering, fighting or adding my voice, crying out for freedom.  I didn't believe in Satan's plan forcing me to do what's right.  Rather I fought with  my brother Jesus as the leader representing my Father's plan of happiness and my freedom to follow if I so chose. 

The last few weeks I have also had the privilege of watching the season 5 theatrical release of "The Chosen."  I cried when watching the people on the screen waving their palms shouting, crying, "Hosanna, Blessed is the King of Israel that cometh in the name of the Lord."  I would like to think that I could have joined in.  I would like to have cried out loud.

At least that's the reason why I went to our ward's celebratory walk to celebrate Palm Sunday.  I didn't show up prepared with something to wave but I was happy to join the procession while singing hymns through the neighborhood.  I cried while feeling the spirit of those great words about the Savior.  I walked beside a friend as she strolled her adult son who has suffered from serious physical and mental disabilities throughout his life.  I've seen her take him walks through the years and have always been so inspired by her loving care as she tends to his severe needs.  But today I was inspired by him.  

Near the end of our procession, my friend asked me to take the stroller because her son wanted to walk the rest of the way.  I followed behind them while witnessing as she steadied her son as he took confident yet clumsy steps.  I cried again. What bravery!  What determination!  He was fighting his body and manifesting his will.  Through his actions, I know he too believes in the great healer, Jesus Christ.  One day he too will be raised up and walk perfectly.  I will be able to understand him when he talks.  He will be whole.  He was a great example of faith in Jesus Christ and his trust in his glorious promises.  It also provided a powerful reminder of my own halting, clumsy steps on this planet as I try to follow the Savior.

  One day we too will be raised up.  No more sickness. No more aging.  No more pain. No more death.  Resurrected!  So I will raise my voice.  I will stand firm and fight, manifesting my will and desire to join the masses of all creation crying out, "Hosanna!  Blessed Be the Name of the Most High God!"