Not so long ago Rhema was learning to use a stamp with her name on it
because it was not likely that she would ever learn to write independently.
But Heather, her OT, and all of her teachers have an against-all-odds, inexhaustible supply of belief and hope in my girl.
Last summer they taught her to trace the letters of her name,
and I cried because it was a taste of faith-becoming-sight, and I was so grateful and so amazed and I’ll never forget how hard she worked and how God comforted us with the gift of it.
A couple weeks ago I observed Rhema at school. Her teacher was working with her on writing letters in boxes beneath her name. Rhema was humming and drawing horizontal lines repeatedly. She needed a lot of physical prompting and guidance. And even then, if she managed to draw a letter it was in the wrong box, out of order.
For some reason, learning to write the name has been an emotional journey and I feel like God has been teaching me something along with Rhema. Maybe it’s because people told us it couldn’t be done, and I went home and buried the dream. Maybe because writing is communicating. If her spoken words are few, perhaps she’ll learn to write her heart? Maybe because once upon a time I just took it for granted that I’d have children who could write their names, and now we fight and try and work for every little thing and now we want it so much more. I cannot express how deep my hope, my desire is for her to pick up pen and write.
And even with the amazing gains she’s made, watching her that day a couple weeks ago, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was really ready for this. But they must think she’s ready, I thought. Well, this is going to take a looooonngg time.”
But Rhema has always laughed at my time tables.
When I picked her up from school last week, Heather was waiting for me. Beaming, she handed me a piece of paper.
Look what she did, friends. 100% independent! Look! what! she! did!