You Just Don T See The Wheelchair

Dorcy had a burden for writing this book because her heart goes out to all who suffer anxiety and panic attacks, being an agoraphobic herself. Jerry and Dorcy have been happily married for over fifty-two years, overcoming many trials. They attribute their success and results to much prayer and giving the Lord all the glory. Dorcy and Jerry pray that the material of this book will help everyone suffering from anxiety and panic attacks, and that their lives will be more comfortable and fuller. Work the "Baby Steps" and look toward a controlled and understanding life of your own. OUR PRAYERS ARE WITH YOU.

"Carolyn is in a wheelchair, but she doesn't let that stop her! She can do almost everything the other kids can, even if sometimes she has to do it a little differently"--

In tiny Blacklin County, Texas, a curse is nothing more than a four-letter word hollered in a barroom or muttered in the heat. So Sheriff Dan Rhodes is more curious than concerned when he dutifully responds to a complaint of witchcraft. When Dr. Samuel Martin, the local dentist — and unpopular landlord — claims he's been hexed by a tenant, Rhodes does his best to smooth things out between the distressed D.D.S. and the would-be witch. But in two shakes of a black cat's tail, the good doctor disappears... and his wife turns up bludgeoned to death. For Rhodes, it means there's a bad moon rising over Blacklin County. And now he's got to do the voodoo he does best — asking pointed questions and extracting the painful truth from some tight-lipped suspects who also bite...

After twenty years, Stephen Faller shares his journey into seminary and ordained ministry. This book reveals the story of how someone with a lifelong disability, cerebral palsy, might find his way into ministry as a hospital chaplain; there is a certain irony in that. While particular in its own right, this story will speak to anyone in college or graduate school studying one of the many disciplines hoping to make the world a better place. Through narrative and dialogue, Faller engages philosophers and theologians alike. This is an intimate text that seeks to integrate mind, body, and spirit that situates itself more beyond the margins than as marginalized. Just as Faller’s own narrative is contextualized by disability, this personal work is contextualized in our polarized and politicized culture, as it considers the meaning of ministry for a contemporary time. His is an embodied text that speaks to a multicultural society, even if that body carries brokenness and even if that society is divided.

How do two parents who are blind take their children to the park? How is a mother with dwarfism treated when she walks her child down the street? How do Deaf parents know when their baby cries in the night? When writer and musician Eliza Hull was pregnant with her first child, like most parents-to-be she was a mix of excited and nervous. But as a person with a disability, there were added complexities. She wondered: Will the pregnancy be too hard? Will people judge me? Will I cope with the demands of parenting? More than 15 per cent of Australian households have a parent with a disability, yet their stories are rarely shared, their experiences almost never reflected in parenting literature. In We’ve Got This, twenty-five parents who identify as Deaf, disabled or chronically ill discuss the highs and lows of their parenting journeys and reveal that the greatest obstacles lie in other people’s attitudes. The result is a moving, revelatory and empowering anthology. As Rebekah Taussig writes, ‘Parenthood can tangle with grief and loss. Disability can include joy and abundance. And goddammit – disabled parents exist.’ Contributors include Jacinta Parsons, Kristy Forbes, Graeme Innes, Jessica Smith, Jax Jacki Brown, Nicole Lee, Elly May Barnes, Neangok Chair, Renay Barker-Mulholland, Micheline Lee and Shakira Hussein. We’ve Got This will appeal to readers of Growing Up Disabled in Australia and other titles in the Growing Up series.

When you look at someone in a wheelchair, the wheelchair is not always what you should see. You do not know what that person is going through or what they have been through. So, before you are quick to judge a person, just think, that could be you someday or someone in your family. It is hard enough being in a wheelchair, then to have people around you look down on you and judge you or think you have a disease. This book is to let people know how easy it is to get hurt, whether you are on your job or whether you are in a car. So, the next time you see someone with a disability, do not be quick to judge.

Can music feel pain? Do songs possess dignity? Do symphonies have rights? Of course not, you might say. Yet think of how we anthropomorphize music, not least when we believe it has been somehow mistreated. A singer butchered or mangled the "Star-Spangled Banner" at the Super Bowl. An underrehearsed cover band made a mockery of Led Zeppelin's classics. An orchestra didn't quite do justice to Mozart's Requiem. Such lively language upholds music as a sentient companion susceptible to injury and in need of fierce protection. There's nothing wrong with the human instinct to safeguard beloved music . . . except, perhaps, when this instinct leads us to hurt or neglect fellow human beings in turn: say, by heaping outsized shame upon those who seem to do music wrong; or by rushing to defend a conductor's beautiful recordings while failing to defend the multiple victims who have accused this maestro of sexual assault. Loving Music Till It Hurts is a capacious exploration of how people's head-over-heels attachments to music can variously align or conflict with agendas of social justice. How do we respond when loving music and loving people appear to clash?