Monday, May 27, 2013


Dear Mommy,

I really enjoyed our time together on Friday.   I love it when you swing me higher..and higher…and higher.  Can you tell?  My smile and giggles are all for you, Mommy.

I’m sorry I made you cry almost all day long.  I’m finding myself, Mommy.  I really am.  Isn’t it cool?

I know you were crying tears of joy and pride, but I still hate to see my Mommy cry.

Yes, I carried that big blue ball across the yard with both my hands.  Yes, I walked while carrying that big blue ball.  I know you cried.  It’s ok Mommy, really.

Yes, I hung from the rings on the swing set and giggled when you thought I was holding myself up when in reality, my feet were on the ground.  I am taller and stronger, Mommy.  Isn’t it cool?

Yes, I handed you my cup and my bowl when I wanted breakfast, and waited patiently for my waffles and eggs.  I am learning patience Mommy.

When you said “Stop!” as I was running down the driveway…  I stopped Mommy, I stopped.  Are you proud of me?!

Mommy, I have friends!  I have lots of friends.  Isn’t that cool?!

I’ve learned a lot of new signs, Mommy.  Isn’t that cool?!  I love being able to communicate with you. 

Have you noticed that I am less frustrated and less aggressive?  I love it.  And I know you love it, Mommy.

Mommy, thanks for the iPad.  I love having a way to tell you what I am thinking or feeling.  Isn’t that cool?

Thank you for swinging me every morning.  My body feels so much better when I get to swing before school. 

Did you see me turn and walk out the gate when I heard the sound of the gate opening?  Isn’t that cool?

I know you see me when you call my name and I stop when I hear you call me.  I love that you call my name, Mommy.  It makes me smile and giggle.

Mommy, have you noticed I’m Mr. Independent.  Thank you for fostering that independence.

I love seeing your happy face every morning when you come in my room.  Do you love seeing my face too, Mommy?  I think you do.  You tell me I’m the most handsomest boy ever every.single.morning.

I'm full of surprises, Mommy.  This is only the beginning. Are you ready?

Mommy, I love you.  And I’m proud of me.

Me too buddy, me too.

Friday, May 24, 2013


Shortly after I was born, my mom took me to the doctor.  All routine.  Until he held me up naked and announced to my mom that my hips were out of alignment.  And see this here, her foot turns in.  She’s going to need casts.

I’m pretty sure that is not what my mom expected to hear.  My hips straightened out on their own, but I had several different casts over the course of the next year.  I had corrective shoes that I received as gifts for Christmas, Easter and my birthday.  They were expensive. The shoes looked like I had the wrong shoes on my feet, as in the left on the right and vice versa.  Regardless, my mom did what she had to do.

Jeremy was diagnosed with diabetes at age 10.  His mom rushed him to the ER immediately, recognizing the signs of diabetes.  He was drinking juice like it was going out of style.  She did what she had to do.

I am Type A, while Jeremy is so not.  We both think we are right all the time.  I have OCD tendencies with certain things.  Jeremy is not a fan of organization.  We do things very differently. 

Jeremy has a messed up thyroid.  I constantly battle my weight.  Jeremy has MS.  I spent years in therapy trying to muddle through special needs motherhood. 

My point?

We are not perfect.

None of us are.

So why, oh why, do we live in a world where perfection is the unachievable goal of the human experience?
When you enter the world of adoption, buzz words start flying around.  Special needs, waiting children, medical needs, healthy, etc.  I cannot fathom why we celebrate when a healthy child is chosen, but questions, shock, and surprise follow the choosing of a child with needs.

This post came to mind during a conversation with my mom.  Someone had asked her if we said we were open to special needs when we adopted AJ.  The answer: No.  You get this checklist, which reminds me of a grocery list.  All of the conditions listed, and you pick what you would consider accepting.  We did not list any special needs, other than what was required to be accepted for Guatemalan adoption.  Low birth weight, prematurity, and lack of prenatal care were all required to be accepted as they are very, very common in Guatemala. 

AJ fit all of those criteria…ah hum, and then some. 

When a child with special needs is born to a family in the traditional way, I have heard (since I have not experienced it) that grief is obviously felt.  However, the flight or fight instinct kicks in and you move forward.  You still love that child! 

So why is it so surprising when someone chooses a child with special needs?  There are no guarantees in the world of parenting. This I can testify.  Foolishly, we had just assumed that because we specified “this” type of child, that’s the type of child we would get.  God laughed.  And we are so grateful he did.

When a loved one is diagnosed with cancer, or a lifelong chronic disease, we do not throw them on the curb. When your child is diagnosed with autism or a syndrome or anything life-changing, you do what you have to do and move forward.  So why is that the first instinct when it comes to a special needs child to throw the idea to the curb?  “Oh, you don’t want to adopt those children because they are so damaged”.

What if that was you?

What if you were damaged at 3 or 7 or 12 years old?  What would you want your parents “to do with you”?  I think perspective plays a key part in that. We put up this perfection barrier-where anything that doesn't fit the perfection mold is meticulously scrutinized and judged.

While my and Jeremy’s examples are minor to us, to some they aren't.  My mom could have ignored the doctor and who knows how I’d be walking now.  Jeremy’s mom could have ignored the signs of Jeremy’s diabetes and, well.  That would have just been bad.

None of us are perfect. 

Friday, May 10, 2013

She Said It...Again.

Earlier this week I took AJ to see his physical therapist. You know, the one I schmooze all over this entire blog?  The one who discharged AJ a year ago and said, “He doesn’t need me”... 

Well, she said it…again.

I took him in for a functional screen, which functions as a quick peek at AJ to see how he looks, feels, and moves. Translation: Mommy needed confirmation that's doing just fine without therapy.  Flying solo freaks me out sometimes.

We haven’t been to his therapy clinic in a year and he still knew exactly where he was going.  Upon entering the gym, he promptly pulled out the platform swing from under one of the mat tables.  The difference, when his PT said, “No, sorry bud, we don’t have time today…he moved on to other things”.  My.big.boy.  
She was simultaneously thrilled and saddened with his status.  Thrilled because, he.looks.great.  Saddened because that means she doesn’t get to see/treat him. 

We discussed the idea of a therapy/service dog for AJ, which is something Jeremy and I have been considering for quite some time.  If anyone was going to give it to me straight, its going to be his PT. 

While I was concerned about his spine, she reassured me that his functional scoliosis has not returned.  His back looks straight.  He.looks.great.
The one issue we both agreed on, his left foot/leg.  Oh boy.  Child, child, child.  The Botox is not lasting long enough.  We are researching phenol injections, you can read about them here.  They last longer, as in 6 months, but there is a catch.  At least for AJ.  You have to be under for the 15-20 minute procedure.  AJ and anesthesia are not friends.  And, he can’t have the stuff that puts you out for just a little bit.  Oy vey.  So, we’ll be digging into that a little bit more in combination with his PT and his physical medicine doctor. 

Botox is still a great option, except that insurance only covers it every 3 months.  AJ’s wore off I’d say in 4-6 weeks this last round.  And that was 4, count ‘em, FOUR injections.  Lots to talk about and discuss. 

She also recommended that we have his stop wearing his AFO on that foot.  Hallelujah.  He’s been walking worse with it on than without.  I’ve been taping his foot and hip with kinescio tape, which has helped tremendously.  Now, if I could just get AJ to stop pulling off the foot tape.  Dude, the stuff is $24 bucks a roll.  We’ll get there.  He giggles when I pull the tape out and stands perfectly straight for me while I apply it to his hip, and somehow relaxes his foot enough for me to tape from the in-step around to the outside ankle.  It could be worse.  He’s such a trooper.

We’re also going to bring out the ‘ol night splint again.  We’re only going to come in on the splint about 5 degrees, so he can stretch out those muscles. 

“He doesn’t need me”. 

Five years of therapy after therapy after therapy and he’s finally free AND thriving.


Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Removing the "I"

Easy.  You know, it’s that word that everyone says in phrases. 

I wish ____ was easier.
I just wish it was easy.
Why can’t it be easy.
It was so easy for so-and-so. 

I think it is human nature for us not just desire, but take the easy route.  To want the easy route.  Humans-well, let’s face it.  We are sorta lazy.  Most of us do not need to hunt and kill our food.  We’ve got comfortable places to call home and lay our heads to sleep.  We’ve got the easy.  But yet, we always want it easier.

A friend and I were recently having a conversation when she shared that she would like things to be easier for me.  Bless.her.heart. If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have jumped all over that.  Yep, I want it to be easier too. 

But that is not my answer today. 

The conversation was in regards to AJ being non-verbal.  I am not going to lie-it is difficult.  It was and has been tremendously difficult.

But it is my normal. 

Sidebar: What in blue blazes is normal anyways?!

In a broad definition, it is my easy.  Because it is what I know.  I don’t know any different.  I know my story, my family’s story, my son’s story.  Those are normal stories to me.  I am less judgmental of other’s easy. 

AJ has and is making tremendous strides with his communication.  As in, every day in the last week he’s made my jaw drop to the ground with something new and exciting.  I mean seriously kiddo.  Rockstar.  Did it sadden me AJ wasn’t talking?  Yes.  Deeply.  Does it sadden me AJ isn’t talking?  Yes.  Sometimes. 

But who am I to say that AJ speaking would make life 100% easier and better.  His life or my life? Life is pretty good with AJ making progress in his communication.  He has what I call a knuckle sandwich of language.  Lack of language exposure early in life, hearing loss, speech & language delay, apraxia.  Basically, it’s a big hoagie of obstacles.  But, AJ can totally overcome it.  In his way.  I think it is often difficult for those looking in to understand that AJ has many, many challenges before him.  When one area soars, another falters.  That’s just the name of the game.  And you plug along.

It took a really long time to remove the “I” from AJ.  Meaning, what I wanted for him. My plan.  My way.  My convenience.  My wants. We wanted to give him the very best life possible.  He didn’t argue. When we said, you’re going to do this, this, this and this because we want you to… He countered with, here’s how this going to go.  Jeremy wanted a child who played sports.  Lots of sports.  He wanted an ESPN buddy and Brew Crew cheering mate.  I thought I didn’t want much.  Just the mom experience with a healthy child so I could follow everyone else’s lead and do the normal mom things.  AJ challenged both of us.  Our dreams were not shattered, they were simply altered.

It was not, by any means easy to let go of our own selfish wants and desires.  But, its not about us.  It’s about AJ.  Looking back, spending summers in therapy appointments yielded no outside therapy for my almost 7 year old.  Spending hours and hours putting his implants back on and encouraging him to listen and enjoy the world around him yielded a very inquisitive little boy who plays with his ability to hear and takes his coils off when he wants to ignore me, just like any other implanted kiddo.  Caving in and moving forward with PECS has lead to AJ navigating the iPad on his own, making choices, increased vocalizations, and clear communication.  Waiting for him to naturally fall into loving sports is happening before our very eyes.

“I” really can’t ask for much more.  Right this second, I’m ok with AJ not talking.  Because he speaks in so many other ways.  And functional ways.  Would I love (beyond the moon love) to hear his sweet voice?  Absolutely.  But for now, he tells me things in his way.  Just because he isn’t talking now doesn’t mean I think he never will.  It doesn’t mean we stop working on speech. It doesn’t mean we stop working on anything. But, I hear his vocalizations changing.  He’s getting closer.  And we’ll keep adjusting to the new normal as needed. 

We’ll just keep the “I” at bay.

Sunday, May 5, 2013

Intentional Success

AJ's IEP was this past week.  It was the BEST.IEP.EVER. It was also the fastest, coming in at 2 hours exactly.  I've mentioned before that this year has been incredible for AJ as far as school is concerned.  He has made so many gains.... I'm bursting with pride just thinking about it.

Here are the highlights:

AJ has taken to his iPad with a force to be reckoned with.  He is able to turn it on, swipe the screen, choose his iCommunicate communication app, or his sensory app board.  He knows the home button will return him to the home screen.  He exercises this skill a little too much.   He chooses from his "Basic Needs" board with great success.  He knows his picture schedules very, very well.  This has been key this year.  For example, his Monday board has one picture at a time, where he swipes to see what's next.  What is amazing is that we have decreased the number of pictures quite a bit.  At the beginning of the year his school day boards all started the same: picture of his school, followed by his assistant, the hallway, the elevator, another hallway, the entry to a specific room, and the room itself.  Now, his school day boards start this way: picture of his school, his assistant, the room that is his destination.  A goal for app use was established as well, since AJ likes to flip through apps like he's a fish.  At his IEP it was discussed that while it drives us all batty sometimes, we think its AJ enjoying the "power" of being able to control the iPad and flip to whatever he wants.  He's such a smart kid.

The most awesome iPad related gain?  AJ is spontaneously seeking out his iPad to try and tell us what he wants.  HUGE!!!  He's understanding that in some situations he's not getting his point across.  So instead of throwing a tantrum and getting uber frustrated, he's using his communicate tool-independently.  The first time he did it at home Jer and I about jumped out of our seats!

AJ is matching pictures to pictures in a board book.  We are beginning to expand this. He is able to trace the letters of his name.  He can trace a vertical and a horizontal line.  He can cut a piece of paper independently using a tabletop scissors.  He loves to cut things out.  This is quite a change from earlier in the year and even last year.  Our goal is to have him engage his left hand/arm to move the paper himself instead of an adult guiding the paper.  AJ is coloring (wahoo!) with great success.  He doesn't do well with just a blank sheet of paper, but does well with a target, such as a coloring sheet or a shape drawn on the paper.  This is HUGE, as he has never been one for coloring.

AJ is doing puzzles with success!  His special education teacher came up with the great idea to color the puzzles piece inserts black to give AJ a color different between the wood puzzle board and the inserts.  It's worked really, really well.

Each year his school PT times him walking the same distance in one particular area of his school.  This year, he dropped his time by 24 seconds.  He's getting faster!  He's also participating like a champ in SDPE (Specially Designed Physical Education).  He's open to anything they throw at him (pun intended).  For example, at the beginning of the year, he was reluctant to try new things.  Now, he'll explore it and pays much more attention to the environment and kids around him.  He is actively participating.  Seriously.  I'm bursty.

A few weeks ago a taekwando school came into the gym classes and worked with the kids.  Apparently, AJ was  He "got it" from the get-go.  They were holding their hands a couple feet off the ground and he was kicking all on his own.  You better believe we're checking into this for him!!!  His school OT is really working on his pre-writing skills and his fine-motor skills.  He has come so far and is open and willing to pretty much anything she presents to him.  She's also really good at finding things that she knows AJ will like.

AJ has become more and more vocal.  His vocal play and imitation has sky-rocketed and we are honoring every sound and encouraging him as much as we can to keep it up!  He's also doing this at school, which is super exciting to see him doing it in both environments. He's keeping both his implants on during auditory therapy, which is HUMUNGO!  Yes I made that word up.  He still prefers the right, but we are making some great progress with returning to bilateral.  I would say 5% of the time he'll "fight" and not want the left on.  That's only 5%.  He's been putting on his own coils for quite a while now (wahoo!), but now he's trying with the left exclusively.  It is amazing to see him "playing around" with his implants.  He takes the coils off and on, realizing the difference between when they are on and off.  He's no longer ripping his implants off or chewing them.  Hallelujah.  Seriously.

We have a follow-up this week at his CI Clinic-as he's been implanted for 4 yrs on the right.  I don't know how that happened.  I'm looking forward to him showing his audis his amazing progress.  And for the first time ever, I am not stressed about booth testing.

AJ needs a brother or sister.  Oh, wait.  That wasn't in the IEP ;)  But its what I was thinking during the peer portion of our meeting.  AJ learns best when he instruction is 1:1 and he has 2:1 assistance.  Meaning, the teacher, and his assistant helping/modeling/prompting him.  However, there has been a huge shift in his interaction with his peers.  As in, its exploded!  He loves to be around his peers. He's seeking them out.  He's getting better at acknowledging them with a high-five.  This is the blanket action we all do to greet him.  He's really good at doing it with adults, but he needs a bit of prompting to do it with his little friends.

AJ's regular education teacher sat in on AJ's entire IEP.  I wanted to squeeze her.  AJ is rarely in his classroom, so I was unsure what she would have to say.  But she opened my eyes to the magic of my little boy.  AJ has a desk in her room-he has all year.  I took a picture of it at the beginning of the year in awe that my boy was a first grader.  With a desk.  Sigh.  Anyhow, she shared that even though AJ isn't in the classroom, the kids have NOT forgotten about him.  She hears conversations between the kids, "Did you see AJ today?!", "I saw AJ on the way to lunch"!  I just about fainted from the cuteness and kindness of these children.  They look forward to seeing him and guard his desk, saying, "That's AJ's desk".  I just.  We could not have asked for a better school environment.  He went to hug one of the preschool girls the other day.  I just about died from the sweetness.  They are his little army love.  I love it.

AJ's been involved in a peer social group for the last few months with some of his male buddies.  They all just radiate cuteness.  This has really helped him make eye contact with his peers, engage, and learn social skills.  It has transferred into other areas, such as engaging his peers throughout his school day.  Currently, AJ eats lunch in the special education room with a few of his friends.  The goal for next year will be to start him in that environment again (for consistency) and then transition him back into the lunchroom with all of his peers.  Apparently, his friends have asked to have him back at lunch with them.  We miss him!  Tear.  At his CI follow-up well be figuring out if we can map a specific program for the lunchroom environment so that he can be with all his peers.  It is now appropriate for AJ to be with his friends on a more consistent basis.

He's bored here at home.  Often.  I am not as fun as a squealing 7 year old girl, apparently.  Or his other buddies.  I am hoping to set up a playgroup with his buddies over the summer.

Speaking of summer-another shocking revelation at his IEP.  AJ only qualified for auditory services with ESY this year.  Holy buckets.  I had to have the staff clarify about three times to really grasp this concept.  Our school district offers regular summer school-what I call fun summer school-which AJ will be participating in.  They have a special needs component which will allow us to sign him up for some fun sessions.  His auditory will be built into that time. I am so excited I can hardly stand it.  No more summer ESY with him and a teacher in a room.  He'll be with other kiddos.  None of this was appropriate last summer, nor in years past.  He wasn't ready.  But boy oh boy is he ready now.  To know that the only area they see regression possible in is auditory, that means my little boy is being successful.

Another goal for AJ is to attend to books for a certain period of time.  Often, AJ flips through books like he flips through apps on his iPad.  It's not that he doesn't like books, because he does, but its a crapshoot as to whether or not he'll attend or not.  Some days he's really "on", some days he's "not".

A few months ago I attended a seminar called "Lights, Camera, Autism".  It was awesome.  And not just for autism. I learned a lot about how to use technology to help AJ.  I was proud to realize we were already ahead of the game!  One piece that I really took away was that the structured "frame" of an iPad (or other screened device) really helps frame and concentrate his brain.  His school SLP asked me for videos of each of us waving and saying "Hi to AJ".  From that format, AJ has learned to sign "Mommy", "Daddy", and "dog".  Yeah. Pretty incredible.  Just this week he produced the modified sign we created for him for "all done" (tapping his hands on the table or his lap).  Yesterday he mastered "bath".  Next up- "sleep" and "cat".  He loves the videos of our dog and cat that I took.  The dog barks, the cat meows up a storm.  He squeals with delight when he sees those videos at school during speech time.  I've noticed him reacting differently to the dog and cat here at home as well.  He's more aware, seeks them out, and pets them.  Framing his world has been very, very successful.

If you are interested in learning about using technology to help your kiddo, check out the Lights, Camera Autism book.

The one area that is still grey and often frustrating is AJ's behavior.  We've figured out that he's displaying these behaviors for attention.  And, because he has no other way to express his emotion. When he's super excited his he'll scratch and pull hair. When he's mad he'll scratch, bite, pinch.  Sigh.  One thing that has helped decrease the behavior is putting words to his actions.  "Oh your mad, I know you are mad!  You.are.mad!".  I'd say that this is helping about 75% of the time.  We'll keep at it.  I'm also brainstorming with his school SLP and OT as to how we can teach him emotions.  I would be ecstatic if we could teach him happy and mad for starters.  AJ doesn't understand those cute/creepy posters with the faces of emotions.  I hope we figure something out soon.

AJ can open and walk out both our front screen door and the back screen door.  He's so independent now. One of his IEP goals is to independently wash his hands.  He's 75% there.  Little skills like this all lead to his successful independence as he gets older.  You wouldn't think it matters, but oh it does.  He can get fully undressed on his own now.  He gets in and out of the car without assistance.  He walks down the stairs without assistance, holding the railing, independently-and is much, much faster.  He understands verbal prompts only, such as: stand up, sit down, pick it up, where's your coat, let's go, stop, get down, I could go on.  Isn't that awesome that I could go on!

The biggest idea we discussed was how AJ is displaying a copious amount of intent.  With everything he does, there is intent behind it.  No longer is he just wandering through his days.  The little boy who wasn't supposed to walk or communicate successfully-IS.  He has expectations, wants, needs, intention, and happiness in his life.  I don't think I could ask for much more than that.


Thursday, May 2, 2013


Three weeks ago we were sitting in church listening to the second talk in our church's "Suffering: You Are Not Alone" series.  This series was incredible right off the bat.  But this particular week was eye opening for me on two levels.

Did you know that we moralize and minimize suffering?  It's all relative, right?  I find myself judgemental when I hear someone else moralizing another's suffering.

Well, at least its not as bad as Jackie's story.  
Or Ken's life.  
Or, hey, did you hear about so-and-so?  Now that's tragic.  

And the minimizing:

There is always someone else worse off than you are.
There are starving children in ________ (unfortunately, there is a choice of countries here).
The chemo's really not that bad.
So you lost your brother.  It's not like you lost your wife or child.

Oh, you'll be fine.

Or my favorite....absolute SILENCE.  If I say nothing, it doesn't exist.  

I sat, mulling over these approaches to suffering, when suddenly our Pastor asked for a show of hands as to how many people have been diagnosed with a terminal or chronic illness.



Not the stranger two pews over. Not Nancy's third husband. Not so-and-so's father.


I placed my hand on his lap as he raised his hand.  As his hand raised, my tears began to fall.  And fall. And fall. And fall.

{For those of you who are new readers, Jeremy was diagnosed with MS just short of 3 years ago}

I am blessed, beyond belief, to have a stubborn husband.  Without his steadfast stubbornness to kick diabetes and MS in the rear, I think I'd have a wet towel schlepping around this house.  Jeremy does not schlep.  The journey to his diagnosis was a rollercoaster.  A wasted ER visit, countless tests, a spinal tap, IV treatments, failed medications and too many unknowns to count.

I sat, as my husband had a needle shoved in between his spine and awed at his ability to be logical and stay still with all the unknowns before us.  I turned my head to fight my tears.  I drove many miles in tears, praying to God that something would change and that this was not happening. I held his hand and gave him quiet assurance that we would handle whatever was to come.  I answered the doctor's questions when he could not. I watched him attend his son's birthday party, clearly in the clouds, realizing a year later that he wasn't able to remember the event.  I watched him go through two agonizing trials with different medications, both of which had more side effects than positive effects.  I watched his anxiousness before MRI appointments and slightly lose his balance on rough days.  I learned to read his symptoms with him speaking a word.  He downplayed everything to everyone else, but as the other half of this crazy partnership, I knew.

We are so incredibly lucky that his MS is slow-progressing.  His medication is working.  We take things one step at a time and pray.  A lot.  We pray in thankgiving.  We pray in need.  We pray for certainty and guidance.  We pray for blessings.

But in that pew, I was faced with the raw- and it was rawwwwwwwww- reality that my husband has multiple sclerosis.

And there is nothing I can do about it.

Me.  The doer.  The fixer of all things because I am the wife, mother, woman. As much as we are blessed and lucky that things are stable, it doesn't take away the bold reality that he has MS.  We're a little spoiled by his success with the disease.  It makes it easy to forget about the disease's possibilities. In that moment, I wanted to curl up next to him in our bed at home and lay for days.  In all of this life's craziness, I wanted to  And use a wand from Harry Potter to create a bubble charm so that I could protect us from further craziness.

I spent the next few days emotionally exhausted and thankful for the jarring reminder.  I think I truly needed that.  We are living proof that this is doable.  We are thriving in the midst of suffering.  We both give each other a learning curve and do our best to respect each other as we plod through this diagnosis.  I try not to minimize when talking to others.  I try really hard.  I don't know how he feels, physically or how he feels completely on an emotional level.  Men are hard to crack in that department.  I do know that he has shown more strength and grace than anyone I've ever met.  I love him more than I ever could have imagined when we met 16 years ago.  Yeah, I'm all mushy.  Deal with it.

Sometimes we all need to be faced with that raw reality.  Jeremy has chosen to thrive in the midst of his suffering.  I admire him and am proud to call him my husband.  He was bold enough to share his story and the choices he's made in the face of chaos.  You can view his story HERE.
{If you do not want to watch the whole thing, start at the beginning and watch through 6:15 and the second part from 21:15 through 23:00}

“’For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your 
ways my ways,’ declares the Lord. ‘As the heavens are 
higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your 
ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.’”
Isaiah 55:8-9

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