I recently attended a Faith at Work retreat and have been reflecting on the
theme of spirituality in the workplace.
I recently attended a Faith at Work retreat and have been reflecting on the
theme of spirituality in the workplace.
I am employed as a school psychologist in a suburban school district in Illinois and, in this capacity, am responsible for conducting psychological evaluations for three elementary schools. My district has been a pioneer in the inclusion movement, which means that all our special education/special needs children are educated in the regular classroom with their same-aged peers. Any special services they need, including aides, are brought into the classroom. The philosophy is one of "community and belonging." The belief is that all children learn from one another and benefit from being educated together. No one is "excluded."
Three years ago I was asked to evaluate the most severely disabled child I had ever encountered in my twenty years as a school psychologist. He had just turned three when I met him. (I will call him Ricky, which is not his real name). Ricky is severely brain-damaged and profoundly mentally impaired. He has limited vision and hearing ability and almost no voluntary motor movement. He sits in a wheelchair with his head propped up and his arms placed limply in supports. Ricky is only able to make a few vocal sounds and move his eyes from side to side. It is not always clear if his sounds and eye movements are intentional or merely reflexive. When I first met Ricky, my heart was filled with sadness. What quality of life could this child possibly have and what could be the purpose of his survival? It was going to be difficult and uncomfortable to evaluate a child who seemed unable to do anything. The vast majority of children evaluated in the schools are basically "regular kids" with "invisible disabilities" such as mild learning and social problems or learning disabilities. What would I say to Ricky's parents? What would I write in my report? And how could a child with Ricky's limitations possibly benefit from "inclusion" with other children when even his level of awareness was in question? How would I deal with what seemed to me to be a hopeless situation? Eventually, the other staff members and I involved in the evaluation (including a speech pathologist and occupational therapist) decided to work together and being the professionals we've been trained to be, ultimately got through the process in a positive and caring manner. Ricky was placed in an Early Childhood program and my involvement was completed. I did not see him for another three years.
This year, I was asked to re-evaluate Ricky (by federal law special education students must be re-evaluated at least every three years). While I initially looked upon this re-evaluation with some feelings of apprehension, I became increasingly curious to see how Ricky was doing after so much time had elapsed. He was now six years old and placed in a regular kindergarten program. I knew I wouldn't be able to use any assessment instruments to evaluate Ricky, so I prepared to spend some time observing him in the classroom and interviewing all the staff members who have daily contact with him.
After entering the classroom, it didn't take long for me to see that there was something really magical going on in that room, something so spiritually moving that I was brought to tears. Ricky was still in his wheelchair, still as disabled as before, but seemed to be almost glowing with a peacefulness about him. His aide was lovingly tending to his needs, smiling as she spoke to him gently and caressed his face. She was an angel, if ever I saw one. And then the other children... one by one and of their own choosing stopped by Ricky's wheelchair to show him pictures and "read" stories to him. One precious little girl just stood beside him for a while and gently stroked his hand. It was absolutely beautiful! I have never been so moved in a classroom. I knew at that moment what Ricky's purpose is in life. He is a gift to those young children...a classmate they will remember for the rest of their lives and by whom they will forever be changed for the better. For Ricky brings out the humanity in them and the spirit of God moves in that little kindergarten classroom! And of course those children and that inclusion aide are gifts to Ricky as well. They tell me his eyes light up in the morning when he enters the room and all the children greet him. They are always happy to see him and I am sure on some level the feeling is quite mutual.
When I related this spiritual experience to the parents and staff at the conference following the evaluation, almost everyone's eyes filled with tears. And they were tears of joy. I was glad that I had not held back my feelings for fear of saying something "too religious" in a public school setting. When the meeting was over, Ricky's mother came over to me and we hugged each other and cried together. She told me Ricky was a blessing from God and a gift she would never choose to return!
Chris Karmgard resides in Downers Grove, IL with her husband and three children.