I am not defined.

Am I my country, that girl from the US? No. Am I my class, that girl who thrived in a loving home? No. Am I my family, mother, wife, daughter, sister to two handicapped brothers? No. Am I my grief, mother of a lost baby? No. Am I my career, one who gives children a voice? No. Am I my passions, nature girl, conquering rock and trail? No. Am I my friends, true and faithful one? No. Am I this illness, hampered by unrelenting pain, fatigue? No.

I am me.

I am ever becoming.

The best of me as I was created. The sludge from life that dulls the shine, diligently peeled away.

Many threads form the fabric of me.

Here is one thread that makes the fabric of who I am:

Having two disabled brothers provided many learning opportunities, despite difficulites too painful to relive here. I absolutely knew the importance of communication at a vulnerable age. Confusion, grief experienced by not being able to communicate with my elder brother was melted away the day he spoke first words. I’m reminded of a quote by Jean Vanier, something like,” why are we surprised at violence from the mentally, physcially challenged?” Would we not, also, become overwrought with frustration should we be unable request a drink, or say “I love you”.

In the wider world the same is true- why are we shocked to hear of violence, ugliness, when there are so many who can not use their voice. Ugliness ensues.

Memory fades as to how I stumbled on WP. I’m thankful for stubbing my toe, though. I was one of the founding subscribers, and rarely have I been so drawn to something as I have been to this movement. From the start I questioned it, however, “How does this magazine have anything to do with my carrer? My passions?” Wait! (Hand taps head). Is it not the same? A voice is a voice. No matter how small, far, what form, place. What are we as a community if we can’t/won’t communicate one to another?

Life is strange. Paths wind. In ways never imagined. Would I be here, in community with sisters worldwide, taking this chance, if it weren’t for this illness, forcing me to stop. To rest. Listen. Write. Thoughts, ideas, dreams needing action. Distance is only perception with this mass technology. Now, not only am I able to touch lives of those physically near, but I can answer the calls of my sisters around the world.

I have a venue from which to facilitate communication with those who may be non-verbal, yet have much to say.

I have a venue to train mothers to, in turn, teach their non-verbal children communication.

I have a venue to teach rising voices how to be focused on a dream, set goals, develp plans of action, and follow through to see their idea come to be and make their voices heard. To become.