Dear Mr. Smith,
I was wrong.
When I took Isaac for his first speech therapy session, and came home saying it didn't go well.
When I said Miss E. looked like she was 15, that she wasn't going to be able to get through to him, and I wished we had been assigned another therapist.
I was wrong.
When I told you that we should cancel, and start pursuing other options of treatment for him. When I said that he wasn't ready for this, that it wasn't going to work, he wasn't going to make any progress with this method.
I was so wrong.
When he comes to me now, making the sign for "more", and his little lips form the word, and force his sweet, husky voice out, and he holds out his cup, and the word "more" spills out at me in a rush of joyful progress.... I can hardly stand it. And I realize how wrong I was.
Thank God for nudges from the Holy Spirit, prompts that push us past our rushes to judgement.
Thank God for progress and hope, and guidance when we are wrong.
Love,
Mrs. Smith
When he comes to me now, making the sign for "more", and his little lips form the word, and force his sweet, husky voice out, and he holds out his cup, and the word "more" spills out at me in a rush of joyful progress.... I can hardly stand it. And I realize how wrong I was.
Thank God for nudges from the Holy Spirit, prompts that push us past our rushes to judgement.
Thank God for progress and hope, and guidance when we are wrong.
Love,
Mrs. Smith
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