Joseph, who is on an able-bodied swim team, and likes to ski, carve and fly-fish, has had 39 surgeries. He was diagnosed with cloacal exstrophy, spina bifida and chiari malformation.

After his teacher Suzanne Nesbit made a documentary of the lack of access in Joseph’s home to send to Oprah, local school officials and community members who viewed it decided not to wait. They found help to build a room with access for Joseph from Rebuilding Together. The project, slated to cost $100,000, is called A Safe Haven.

The aim of the addition is to make Joseph’s living quarters accessible in every way.

A custom-made shower is part of the plans. A washing machine, dryer, stovetop and microwave will be at a level he can reach, and the rooms will be designed so he will always have enough space to turn his wheelchair around.

“This will be a place for him to live independently,” said Warren, who will be recruiting volunteers once the project is closer to completion. “Joseph sells this project himself. He and his family have overcome so much, and everybody’s embracing it as an opportunity to do something beyond themselves.”

All this is huge for Joseph, who seems to have architect Lynn Walker’s blueprints memorized. With great detail, he can reel off with preciseness what will be in each of the 1800 square feet of the addition.

His eyes beam as he rehearses the architectural plans.
“I will be able to bring my wheelchair into my room,” said Joseph, who presently must be carried up the stairs each day. “And I’ll finally be able to close my own door.” via newsleader.com

Story at:

http://www.newsleader.com/article/20090816/NEWS01/908160347/ 1002/A-safe-haven-

The bimonthly program also helps children prepare for the sacraments.

The article explains how a parishioner at St. Peter’s coordinated the program when she realized the need to include children with disabilities, by consulting with experts and recruiting volunteers.

Dioceses in at least 31 states offer specialized religious instruction for students suffering from conditions including autism, mental retardation, emotional and learning disabilities and brain injuries, according to a 2007-2008 survey by the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops.

Imago dei
Each human has intrinsic value
Four limbed, two limbed, scarred, botoxed, obese, thin, bearded, bald, rich, poor, blind, seeing, deaf ,hearing, walking, rolling, limping
You draw us all near

Who am I to judge
(Tolerance begets more, not less space)
The simplest prayer is heard
Psalmists shout complaints and praise
Let me not be put to shame (by these, mine enemies within and without)

Prayer is not always pretty
Or without doubt

Sometimes it begins with
So God I’m here.

If you must
Insert your entire hand

The wound is large enough
Has bled enough for you
(And you and you
Those whom my words now anger)

Can you see my face Thomas
Many cannot but will believe
Not touch but have faith
Not ask why but love each other

And yet I love you Thomas
And those like you who come to me

I see your tears Thomas
Hear your fears whispered in the night

Yet you stand before me
Your finger at the ready

Go on place it in the wound
I will forgive your anguished cry of surprise
Did you not see the women weep by my cross
Mourn my earthly death
Heed not my words that I would return

God is bigger than your doubt

God’s love isn’t reserved for saints and mystics. It’s there for the clueless disciples, the reluctant prophets, and even those of us who doubt, who struggle with the most basic of human faults in ourselves. It doesn’t matter, you see. The love of God isn’t reserved for a special few.

I was once on a retreat. One of the retreat-ants went to talk to a priest and spent an entire twenty minutes complaining to him about her life. Knowing that her problems were more from her perception of things than actual issues, the priest said to her “We aren’t at this retreat to talk about our problems. We’re here to find spiritual solutions” and sent her to the chapel to pray, where she met me. I was deep in prayer when she came in and began complaining to me, as she had done the entire weekend, how no one understood her.

I’ve been on staff at retreats for terminally ill people and found them less challenging than this woman, who had an excellent career, good childhood and lacked nothing in material wealth. Her external circumstances just were meaningless to her however. All she could see was what she didn’t have and that one thing – not being married – caused her so much emotional pain that she dieted down to a size six. When that didn’t help her find the right person, she came to the retreat, full of grief. The way she showed that grief was to vent. It was very hard to be around her.

So there I sat in my wheelchair in the chapel, fresh back from a retreat with terminally ill people, praying for a dear friend who died from MS. Perhaps because of this I could see that she was grieving for the life she did not have. Many of us run into these feelings as we get older and discover that maybe we won’t get the education we need for that career we wanted or perhaps can’t have children or may have things happen in our lives we just don’t expect. What can happen is that we lose gratitude for what we do have and grieve for what we don’t. And we don’t get sympathy from others, but turn them away if we stay stuck there.

Her first words were “How could that priest understand what I’m going through? He can’t get married!” I almost laughed, but instead turned to her and said “You’re so sad that you haven’t found the right person to marry”, addressing her need openly. She nodded and began to cry, then leaned down and threw her arms around me, sobbing. “What’s wrong with me?” she asked. “I’ve done everything to make myself better and no one loves me.”

Gently, I told her that God loved her. She predictably scoffed at me, but I suggested that instead of feeling sad about the life she didn’t have, why didn’t she try to find ways to discover herself in God’s love while she waited to find the right person. She rubbed her eyes and looked at me as if I had lost my mind, but then she said “I suppose I have nothing to lose.” “And everything to gain,” I said. And I shared the above passage with her.

Two months later, I received a phone call from her. She told me that the plans we drew up at the retreat, which included volunteering and reaching out to others without making the goal finding a husband, were working out. “I like myself better,” she told me “and I made some new friends. In fact, I’m happier than I can remember being. I feel -” she hesitated- “loved, which was what I really wanted in the first place.”

And after spending ten minutes on the phone with her, I even liked her better! Gone was her venting and complaining, gone was her self pity. Instead she spoke about her new, exciting life and shared that she signed up for a few more trips to help people out. “I took a lot of what I have for granted,” she told me. “And I couldn’t see that because I couldn’t get out of myself.”

Someone probably could have told her that at the retreat, but that wouldn’t have helped her heal. What she needed was to feel lovable – even though many of us didn’t think there was much hope of that when we met her.

Here’s a song by Jon Weems, a musician with a disability. Please visit his website shown at the end of the video to hear more of his music or read about how he creates his music.