A Night of Nostalgia

We headed over yesterday for a brief visit with my husband's parents. Even before I had returned home and read Cardiogirl's post, I intended to write about the trip down memory lane. So, imagine my surprise to read Cardiogirl's theory that obsessive neat-nicks produce pack rats and pack rats produce obsessive neat-nicks.

My parents would not argue with the fact that they were pack rats. We had a family of seven. As someone else, in Cardiogirl's comments, observed: anytime there are a large number of children, there is an accumulation of things, papers, etc. Because my parents were Salvation Army officers, we were moved to a new location every two to three years and with every move we seemed to have more boxes accumulating in the next houses' garage. It was a problem, but we were always too strapped for time to go through the painful process of sorting and pitching. I know they tried. We always had garage sales. Sadly, I think they still are trying to sort through the years of accumulation.

My sister, on the other hand, runs a very tight ship and I have never really seen clutter in her home. My brothers all married women who are more organized and try to keep them organized (I know they, too, struggle with the "piles on the kitchen table problem." But, as much as I wish I had less clutter, I really love looking at the things I have saved over the years.

This short visit was a case in point. While my sons were playing in the basement, I noticed several boxes under the pool table labeled "J & W's things." I found a wonderful set of glass bowls which we received as a wedding present in 1990. I meant to bring them home. I forgot. The other things in the boxes were really cool. One box contained my old clanging cymbals monkey. A small jewelry box contained my Salvation Army epulets from The Oakbrook Terrace Corps (I suppose the reason this is so cool is that 20 years after removing those epulets, my oldest brother and his wife are now stationed as the corps officers at that corps). It also contained several key-chains my parents bought me - one from Disney World and one of a double decker bus, from their first trip to London. I found an adorable macrame insect. I don't remember what friend made it for me, but my MS fell in love with it and promptly absconded with it, quickly breaking off the eyes - groan.

I didn't continue to dig through the boxes, but thought I really must head back this summer and reclaim my things from their house. I know they are trying to declutter. They asked my husband if they could throw out our two bikes hanging in the garage. My husband said, "Sure." I chimed in, "Oh, could we bring them here?" My ES could ride the men's bike and I'd like to keep my bike. I'm sure there were inward groans, but outwardly they were very gracious. Then, I waxed nostalgic and said, "Remember when we didn't have kids and a visit to your parents meant long, leisurely bike rides over the country roads (once we even got lost)." My ES does actually need a ten-speed. However, I already have a different bike, so I should let them dispose of my old one that I kept there.

Then, after the boys had gone to bed, I peeked in the upstairs closet. I saw my wedding dress. I was hanging on to that in case I had a girl. I guess that's something I could try to sell on e-bay. Another box held all my music trophies and awards. Inside this box, I found my HS diploma and a plastic bag full of letters which friends of mine sent during the year prior to that graduation. Those letters were especially important because they carried me through a very difficult time.

You see, my parents were moved from Chicago to Sioux Falls, South Dakota, just prior to my senior year of HS. Up until now, it was the most difficult move of my life. I left behind my instrument, a class rank of 5th out of several hundred, a host of very good friends, a youth band I was privileged to travel with, and two brothers (one remained in Chicago and the other headed off to Asbury College in Kentucky).

I pulled out and read almost every letter in the bundle. Several times, I came close to tears. Many of these correspondents are still friends (several of them still go to the Oakbrook Terrace Corps). The letters were full of encouragements to hang in there. They held gossip (who was dating who). They held scripture verses. They held love and sympathy (many were also officer's kids and used to having their lives uprooted from time to time). They let me know that I had a host of people supporting me, even though I felt very lonely (I had five study halls a day and spent all of my time reading. One of my few classes was an independent reading class and I remember that I completed the assigned semester's worth of pages within the first two or three weeks.)

I tucked the letters into my luggage and headed to bed. I was sleeping in my husband's boyhood room, which contains two twin beds and a crib. My ES was already fast asleep in the bed next to me and was facing me. I couldn't fall asleep. Not only was my mind full of all those bits and pieces of my past, but it was now full of bits and pieces of my ES's past.

I stared at him. He is so tall and lank now (especially after losing 10 lbs. in wrestling). His body fills out the entire bed, even though I remember when he was in the crib. Where did all that time go? How did he get so big? Will I cling to little momentos from his childhood, trying to hold him back from leaving my nest?

I am knee-deep in the process of getting rid of the baby things. No more need to hang on. No just-in-case. We are done. What cannot be sold at the children's resale shop will go to the Crisis Pregnancy Center. I have already made several trips (and my husband is SO GRATEFUL!). I even took a photo of a toy I hated to part with.

A friend crocheted this turtle over a margarine tub filled with beans and gave it to me at my first baby shower. I hated to toss this without taking a photo to remember it by.

I know that I keep way too many things. For example, when we lived in an apartment in DeKalb, we discovered that the gal across the hall grew up in Sioux Falls, SD. One night, I said, "Hey, you should come over and visit because I have all of the HS newspapers from the year I went to school there." She was blown away. She had a great time seeking out names and faces of people she knew. She now has four children, so I know she wouldn't have wanted to hang on to those newsletters, but I probably should have tried to pawn them off on her (I didn't even like that school or know many people, since I spent most of my time in silent study halls). Perhaps I'll look through them again this summer and then, throw them out! But, maybe I need Cardiogirl to come visit and help me in that process.

The Joys and the Trials of Life with my MS

I stumbled into the joy of making specialty cakes when my ES was 2 and saw a Winnie-the-Pooh cake pan in the clearance section at Target. Since the pan, with frosting colors, tips and bags was marked down to something over $2, I figured, why not? I made the cake and frosted it in front of my Basic Life Skills class (I'm sure being able to frost a cake like this ISN'T a BASIC life skill, but they were more than willing to watch me and then to eat the end result). I considered that my trial run.

I was amazed because it turned out better than I imagined (I had tried a few cakes before and found that I am horrible at spreading icing - the press down and lift up method for most Wilton pans was time-consuming, but looked much more professional in the end). So, I made the cake again, for ES's 2nd birthday and then forgot to even snap a photo of it. Hence, three weeks later, I made the same cake merely to take a photo of it (some day I'll devote a post to some of my previous cakes).

This past September, when my MS was turning 3, I found a Scooby-Doo cake pan at a garage sale for only 50 cents. It was great fun preparing it and he did enjoy it a lot, but within a few months of his birthday he began begging me to go on e-bay and buy a Spiderman cake pan. I figured I had plenty of time and, who knows, I might luck into another garage sale find. Then, I found Amber's blog and decided to attempt to follow her tutorial on Frozen Buttercream Transfers and make a Spiderman cake. I couldn't possibly wait until next September, so I made it to celebrate his 1/2 birthday.

It turned out we were expecting company, friends from DeKalb who were headed to Indiana this past week for their Spring Break, so I added a welcome message to them, too. Unfortunately, due to sickness, we didn't get to share the cake with them. Instead, we'll take it with us this weekend when we head over to visit the grandparents for our Spring Break.

Of course, I notice all the things I will do better next time. Primarily, my error was in not making enough frosting and not tinting the proper amounts. I began with the same amount I usually make to cover a cake made from a Wilton pan. However, Wilton offers helpful instructions as to how much to tint in the various colors. I had to guess and this was my first mistake. I made far too much red and black, just enough blue and not nearly enough white. So, the night that I set about making the tranfer (late in the night, mind you), I ran out of white frosting. It was already 1 a.m. and I wasn't about to stay up any later making more white, so I froze it without finishing the background. If you look closely, you can see the backwards c-shaped area where I filled in with other white (just a tad darker for some reason) the following evening.

I also didn't smooth it out sufficiently, so I notice lines where I filled in the background frosting. Then, came time to place it over the cake with its sides frosted. My transfer was too large (bad measuring, I suppose) and I had to push the edges down. I had already made another 1/2 batch of white frosting and so decided to merely do the borders in red on the top and black along the bottom. Not the best decision, but certainly more timely than making more frosting (I think I would have chosen blue borders just to even out the coloring some more).

Still, my MS was deliriously happy (and is having a hard time waiting until this weekend to eat it) and my hubby thought I did a fine job. I am thrilled to have learned a new way to decorate cakes and plan on getting more practice at every opportunity. Maybe some day, when I don't have two small children as extra appendages to my limbs 24/7, I will actually take a cake decorating class. Thanks, Amber, for teaching me something in my own home without the need for child care. Although, after last night, I am praying even harder for child care.

Yes, I did say the "trials" of life with my MS. I couldn't have blogged about this last night - the steam was still screeching out of my ears. However, by morning, I happily took a photo for evidence and decided to share more life with my MS!


Naps are a wicked thing for this toddler. He still needs them, but on days when he has one, he often doesn't fall asleep until very late. So, last night he continued to come out with bathroom jaunts and requests for rocking. I was already beyond my patience with him, when at 11:15 I heard the howl of my YS. I dashed in to see what had happened. Yes, the photo I could have taken last night would have looked reminiscent of the scene where ET is hiding in the stuffed animals in the closet. I had to search long and hard to make out my crying baby's face because my MS had thrown all of these items (which I tossed in a fury on the floor) into his crib.

I'm wondering if MS actually progressed in naughtiness. Did he throw in the stuffed animals first and say to himself, "Hmm, no damage?" Then came the slippers. Still no response. Then the water bottle and soft books followed by 7 or 8 hard books. How about the yellow rubber door jam? The plastic green roof to Big Bird's house? Hard action figures. "Nope, I'm gonna have to pull out the big guns. Ah, success - the metal Spiderman trash can! Yep, now I've got all the attention I didn't know I didn't really want!" GOOD NIGHT!

Book Review: Telling Secrets

A short time ago, Cardiogirl did a post on meeting famous people. I have actually had the privilege of meeting several famous people, so I enjoyed commenting on her post and one of the names I dropped was that of Frederick Buechner. The first time I ever heard this author's name was when Mary Dorsett, the wife of my boss, Dr. Lyle Dorsett, came over from Wheaton College's Special Collections where she worked, to tell us excitedly that she had just secured the writings of Frederick Buechner for Wheaton's special collections. Given her enthusiasm, I should have headed to the library to check out some of his books then and there, but I was a busy college student and so I merely made note of the name.

Not too long after that, I heard that this distinguished author was coming to Wheaton to teach an 8 week course on "Religion in Literature." Even at that time, I didn't fully recognize what a grand opportunity I was about to experience. I signed on for the course and after the first class, went home to write in my journal about the many other students who were taking the course with me. It was a fabulous class. Buechner assigned approximately a book a week and we spent the class sessions in animated discussion. He did not lecture. He did not give tests. He required only class participation and a final paper to sum up what we had gained from our reading.

We read some incredible books together and it sparked a lot of deep discussion among several of us. In fact, the following summer, I was still corresponding with other students about books we had discussed with Buechner and other books that his syllabus had led us to. Would that I could duplicate now the hours of intellectual stimulation I received in college discussing various pieces of literature.

I have several Buechner books in my own collection; some I have read, some I merely own and intend to read ... some day. Apparently, the Cardiogirl home (or should I call it an empire? - seems fitting) contains every single book published by Frederick Buechner, because her husband is a big fan of his writing. He actually wrote me a letter asking me to provide details from the class (this is where keeping a journal really comes in handy) and ended up encouraging me to read Buechner's memoir, Telling Secrets, because Buechner actually mentions his experience of teaching at Wheaton College.

End of back story, on to the review: I thoroughly enjoyed this brief, entrancing book. Buechner tells some of his secrets (his father's alcoholism and suicide, his daughter's struggle with anorexia, and his own role in creating a climate for her anorexia to flourish). We all have secrets and we all are torn between the desire to bring them to light and to keep them hidden. Thus, my friend, Guilty Secret and her blog. And, I even found another blog based on some Buechner quotes. She pared down this quote, considerably; I felt I could not.

Buechner writes: "It is important to tell ... the secret of who we truly and fully are ... because otherwise we run the risk of losing track of who we truly and fully are and little by little come to accept instead the highly edited version which we put forth in hope that the world will find it more acceptable than the real thing. It is important to tell our secrets too because it makes it easier that way to see where we have been ... and where we are going. It also makes it easier for other people to tell us a secret or two of their own.... Finally, I suspect that it is by entering that deep place inside us where our secrets are kept that we come perhaps closer than we do anywhere else to the One who, whether we realize it or not, is of all our secrets the most telling and the most precious we have to tell."

Although I did enjoy reading the bits about his experience teaching my class, the far bigger impact from this book was how affirmed I felt at the end of reading it. He made it clear that it is entirely human to have stuff (baggage) we don't want to share with everyone, stuff we might be ashamed to admit, stuff that gets in the way of relating easily with one another. He also made it clear that sometimes the answers we are looking for lead us back to the mystery of God. I still wrestle with God from time to time. Buechner reminds me that I'm not the only one wrestling and that, perhaps, the issues I wrestle most over are things which God has allowed in my life specifically for the benefit of wrestling and experiencing His grace.

One of the other lines I loved in this book hooked me because of the pleasure of one word. He wrote, "tatterdemalion crowd though we were..." I love the word tatterdemalion. I love the image. I am the image. I am part of that tatterdemalion crowd and I am one of those whom God still speaks to in all the STUFF of my life.

A Little Help from My Friends

Just wanted to put a sound-out requesting some help for my friends and family. When we lived in DeKalb, we developed a very close friendship with a wonderful family of girls down the street. There were three girls in the family and their mom was going to school. I had an only child who craved someone to play with, so I often invited the three girls down to our house after school for a few hours. We had tons of fun. This was my girl fix. I don't remember ever braiding their hair, but I do remember wonderful times baking, making crafts, running through sprinklers and lots and lots of playing.

We still miss their company and think of them often. In fact, the other day my MS asked my husband to play one of our Halloween CD's (a cheap one that came in a box of cereal, but one my kids have always loved because the music is fun). As soon as he put it on, my husband waxed nostalgic and pined for the days when those three girls would jump on our bed with my ES, while singing with that CD!

Anyway, the girls' mother, Jennifer, recently e-mailed to ask if I would send a postcard for her youngest daughter's school project. Her middle daughter (who was my ES's best friend for several years) had done the same project in school last year and I sent this sound out via e-mail. Last year, her daughter had a windfall response. So, I'm hoping that you can help her younger sister feel just as loved!

If you are from a state other than IL (or a different country), have a moment, and can afford to send a postcard from your area (I'll send one of the INDY 500) telling a little about where you are from, please send it to:

Macie Berg
c/o Prairie Hill School
14714 Willowbrook Road
S. Beloit, IL 61080

Thanks for helping out!

And, remember, there is only one week left to go to www.colgate.com/starlight and vote for my niece's hospital (St. Vincent's Hospital in Green Bay, WI) to win a mobile fun center for their pediatric unit. Amelia was there today for her LAST spinal tap in her course of treatment. If you want to see photos of my bald brother and nephew, visit Amelia's site at www.caringbridge.org/visit/ameliagorton . Thanks for casting as many votes as possible between now and March 31st.

Good News to Share

Perhaps I am just in an overly critical funk this weekend, but once again, I'm not going to post those Easter thoughts. Instead, I'm going to ramble from my stream-0f-consciousness (at least I think I'm conscious - some days, who knows) around the Easter theme.

My boys LOVE holidays. One boy talks about one specific holiday throughout the whole year (if you know me, you'll know which boy I mean, and hey, you've got a fifty-fifty chance since one of the three can't talk yet). So, I have been trying to make a point this week of explaining the spiritual reason we celebrate Easter. Last Sunday, my MS loved holding, waving and then (in the car) tearing apart the palm branch he was given in church. We talked, ever so briefly, about Jesus dying on the cross (since we've had some emotions about dying lately).

Today, the church where my MS goes for Parent's Day Out held an Easter egg hunt. I had noticed the open invitation on the sign, so, I decided to bundle up the two little guys and give it a go (it looked like both rain and snow, so I wasn't sure how it would go). I'm sure they had fun. I survived and I was glad they had fun.

I suppose my brain works in certain ways because I was a pastor's kid. When I saw the jam-packed parking lot, my first thought was, "Man, this was a clever outreach event." It brings to mind, my friend Kyle and thoughts he once shared about visiting the Circus Museum in Wisconsin. The circus used to go out to share their incredible acts and impressive sights. They rallied people into their tents, moving to where the people were, not holed up in a museum. His point was that we, as Christians, have good news to share and we shouldn't keep this good news under wraps for quiet inspection in a museum. We, too, should go out to proclaim it.

I guess I left just a little bit sad in my soul. Yes, my children had fun. And, maybe, I'm the only one who saw it this way, but man what a wasted opportunity. We entered, they took names for door prizes. I ushered MS and YS out the door to the playground area where the 3-5s were allowed to look for eggs. After the egg hunt, we headed back to the sanctuary for games and the door prizes. Then, unexpectedly, we were all invited to stay for a hot dog lunch in the fellowship hall. I commend this church for offering nourishment and great entertainment to the public.

However, my soul ached just a little bit as well. I suppose, I expected to receive something with information about the church (even though I already know their information), some sort of small message about why they were opening their doors, some hint that there was good news to share and some greater pull towards a community of believers. During the hot dog lunch, I sat at a table with my two little boys and noticed the (sadly typical) division in the room. Regular attenders were all on one end of the room, packed around tables conversing animatedly with one another. Then there were the patches of non-attenders - isolated families, eating alone.

I will admit that I spent a great deal of time chasing the two little guys (remember, they are 1 and 3 and too heavy to hold the whole time), so perhaps I was a difficult target to approach. But, we were there for an hour and a half and I approached two or three people. One was wearing a Rockford sweatshirt, and I just had to ask if she was from Rockford (which is near where we used to live). She said "No," and quickly looked away (who knows, maybe it was a thrift store purchase and she only bought it because she liked the color). The only people who approached me were the pastor, his wife, and the PDO director.

I know I am more keenly aware of this subject because I have recently moved, but I do want to encourage others to reach out when newcomers enter their church doors. I already know the good news. I already have received the gift. But, so many others, enter with their families to search for Easter eggs, hoping that someone will give them more than an Easter egg and a hot dog lunch. I don't want to seem like I am slamming this church. I am not. I grew up in The Salvation Army. We were all about meeting the physical needs as an introduction to meeting the spiritual needs in others. I merely hope to encourage other believers to use their outreach events to effectively reach out. I found myself wishing they had instructed their regular attenders to seek out four or five newcomers to greet and strike up a conversation with. Perhaps they did, and I merely fell through the cracks (while chasing my whirling dervishes).

And, in that same spirit, I wanted to share a fabulous story of reconciliation. I love books with that theme. I crave these kinds of stories again and again. My soul needs to hear them. If you would like to read a fine story of reconciliation please read this. I hope that I may be more about sharing the good news than I have been. It is too important to forget! We all need more than an Easter egg and a hot dog for today; we need the miracle of Easter and His nourishment for today, tomorrow and eternity!

Good Friday for my ES, not my MS

Yes, this is a photo of my ES's accomplished performance on Guitar Hero. Tonight, after attending a large boy-girl birthday party, he managed to make 100% twice (notice the little spot on the newspaper headline where it says notes hit: 100%). The second time, I told him to take a picture of it and promised to post it.

Side note about the party: At first my son said that 60 were invited to this party. When I expressed concern that they could fit 60 into their house, he whittled it down to 30. When I called to RSVP, I asked if they were doing presents. The mom said "Well, yes, they are," with just a hint of "why wouldn't we?" I'm curious what other mothers think about gifting at birthday parties.

See, I always wanted people to be low-key when we invited them to a birthday party for our son (meaning small token gifts). When he was in 1st grade, we discovered the wonderful option of the pool party. Our local park district in IL offered family swims on Sundays and we were able to pay $2 per child to have a pool party, providing our own snacks out in the hall. We invited his whole class (and did this for 3 years in a row - it was such fun). Because we anticipated larger numbers (but not 30, mind you) we hosted a round robin gift exchange. Each child was asked to bring a $2-5 wrapped gift labeled either neutral or boy or girl. Our family brought two such gifts and all the gifts were placed on the middle of the blanket. The guests drew numbers, then my son chose the first and last gifts and the guests chose based on their numbers (therefore, no guest got stuck with the last gift on the pile). They swam, ate cupcakes, drank juice and every kid went home with a gift and a small goody bag. A good time was had by all.

Tonight, my son took $10 as his gift. He refused a gift card, saying "What if she doesn't like to shop at the store you get a gift card from?". He even refused to put it in a card. "Mom, trust me, nobody does that. Nobody is probably bringing a present anyway." Obviously, my son thought this girl's mother invited 60 nobodies! Hope they all had fun. I don't even know because I was dealing with MS when ES got home and once ES told me about his accomplishments on Guitar Hero, I realized he should really head to bed, too. (Hey, at least I promised to blog/brag about him)

Now, MS - ARGGHHHHHH! He has been having some toileting issues for the past four days (I'm ready to put him back in diapers). Tonight, I whisked YS out of the bath and got him into clean p.j.s. Headed back to whisk out MS. Was greeted with "I'm sorry, Mommy. I did a little poopy in the tub, but I'm cleaning it all by myself, so don't you worry." There he stood, with a sponge (oh my - he must have gotten out to get that, didn't he??) pushing the said floaties all around the bottom of the tub. Perhaps, I wouldn't have gotten quite so mad, if it didn't seem like he'd been plotting this all week, dropping little verbal hints like, "if I made a mess in the tub, I'd be sure to clean it up, so you wouldn't have to." (Earlier in the week, I had asked him to help me with a chore. I put ES's muddy inflatable sled in the tub, filled it with water, handed MS a sponge and asked him to clean the mud off. He happily got in the tub and did a fine job. He was well proud of himself. Now I see where those wheels, they began a turnin'.)

No, I didn't crucify him - but I was good and mad, and he certainly went straight to bed (after a story from my head, involving a poop monster which Spiderman graciously helped them defeat and flush down the toilet, THE ONLY PLACE WHERE POOP MONSTERS EVER BELONG!!!!).

And to think, I intended to come on tonight and give you some inspirational Easter thoughts. I will try to post those tomorrow. (You can just be grateful that I didn't include photographic evidence of MS's Bad Friday!)

Book Review: Musicophilia

I have always been fascinated by the power of music. Indeed, music has significantly enriched my life. I grew up in a very musical family. Both of my parents sing and play instruments. My father insisted that each of his five children learn to play an instrument at the age of 7. He started all of us on the slide trumpet, so we could learn the trombone positions, and then moved us to the cornet. By the time we were 10 or 11, the choice was ours as to whether we would continue or not. I chose to continue and have never felt regret (except, perhaps, that music doesn't play as significant a part in my life now as it did in the past).

Thus, I was eager to read Oliver Sacks newest book, Musicophilia: Tales of Music and the Brain. Oliver Sacks is a physician and author, whose most recognized book would probably be Awakenings, which was made into a movie starring Robin Williams. Although his subject matter is rather heady (dealing with the brain - ha!), he manages to pepper the neurological information he provides with compelling stories of various patients and other individuals.

The book is tightly structured into four parts. The first part, called "Haunted by Music," discusses ways music can take hold of the brain. He tells of a doctor who, after he is struck by lightening, becomes obsessed with music. He talks of musical seizures and hallucinations. He discusses brainworms (tunes our brains latch onto and cannot seem to stop repeating).

Personally, my brainworms are usually annoying Barney tunes or ditties from commercials. However, the whole time I was reading this book, I had a new brainworm take hold. It was a song I have listened to on numerous occasions, sung by The Salvation Army's Chicago Staff Band, called "The Rhythm of Life." Just as the book described, I could actually hear the music in my mind as if being performed right in front of me . I even heard it right down to the nuances of the individual voices of people I know who were singing on the recording.

The words are an entirely fitting accompaniment to Sack's book:

The rhythm of life is a powerful beat,

Puts a tingle in your fingers and a tingle in your feet,

Rhythm on the inside, rhythm on the street,

And the rhythm of life is a powerful beat.

The second section of the book is called, "A Range of Musicality." Here, Sacks discusses individuals who cannot appreciate music, those who appreciate it, but are not musical, those with absolute pitch, savants, blind musicians whose auditory abilities are enhanced, and synesthetes (individuals who actually see colors with each pitch). Each individual has differing strengths and weaknesses when it comes to musical abilities. Did you know that half of children who are born blind have absolute pitch?

In the third section, Sacks deals with "Memory, Movement, and Music." He tells absorbing stories of individuals who overcame various medical disabilities, like amnesia, Alzheimer's, Tourette's, Parkinson's, autism and amputation through forms of music therapy. I found myself, time and again, sharing bits and pieces with my husband. The tale of the severe amnesiac who couldn't remember time from one moment to the next, yet could play his music and conduct without difficulty. Individuals with Tourette's, whose thousands of tics virtually disappear while playing music. Parkinson's and Alzheimer's patients who come alive only to music. The tale of the one-armed pianist.

The final section discusses "Emotion, Identity, and Music." Different people have differing susceptibilities to music. Individuals with Aspergers may have intricate knowledge of many subjects, yet experience difficulty feeling an emotional response to music, while a whole group of individuals with Williams Syndrome can spend every waking moment engrossed in music yet be unable to tie a shoe or add 3 + 5.

This book will certainly be one of my favorite reads for the year. It reminded me of Dr. Paul Brand's books, Fearfully and Wonderfully Made and The Gift Nobody Wants. Each of these books wrought in me a surge of gratitude to God for the incredible intricacy of the human body and for the marvelous gifts He has given us through creative use of the body.