When you ride a rollercoaster for the first time you feel a surge of emotions that grab, terrify, and haunt you all at once – well, at least at the start. But once you get over that first drop, that first mind bending, gut wrenching drop, you suddenly realize that your life isn’t over. And not only is your life not over, it’s also exciting anticipating what else is around the corner.  When the adrenaline takes over, the fear of the impending disaster dissipates.

That’s what pregnancy was for me. I had the initial fear seeing the digital test flash “pregnant.” That fear wasn’t because it wasn’t planned – technically, we did plan. We got married, bought the nice house in a subdivision, and had a fantastic waiting period of five years so that we could explore married life without kids. The fear was the feeling of “oh no, what have we done?!”

And I wasn’t the only one who felt it! My husband had that look on his face when I showed him the test. He didn’t jump around with joy or even smile; he just looked at me with an expression of confusion and worry that settled somewhere closer to acceptance. You would have thought we were two fifteen year olds still in high school with no life achievements. But what mattered most wasn’t our initial reaction. What mattered was the journey we were embarking on together as husband and wife. The excitement hit us quickly enough, along with the extreme nausea and vomiting that plagued me for months.

My husband always wanted a beautiful baby girl. That was his desire from the start. I don’t have to explain how happy he was when the ultrasound tech told us what we were having. We decided to have a nice small and intimate reveal party, just for the grandparents. We got the idea to get cute pink build-a-bears to give to the prospective grandmothers and we revealed our daughter’s name along with the due date. It was exciting and wonderful.

But life always has a drop waiting around the corner. It never fails: impending doom lurks, waiting for its next victim. It wouldn’t be a journey if it didn’t have obstacles. So that is what I first thought when my OB/GYN called me to come to the office exactly one week after the reveal party. But I could have never prepared myself for the words “positive for Down syndrome.” I kept thinking, how could this be? My husband and I were both still in our twenties and healthy, with no family history of anything more than diabetes. This couldn’t happen to us! I stared at my husband, and he had the look of suffocation, as if the room had been stripped of oxygen. We rushed home to do research, to ease our minds into believing that the prenatal test was inaccurate or wrong. We even grasped at the straw of someone in a lab mixing my blood with someone else’s. Our parents reassured us that it was a faulty test, it happened all the time in the eighties and early nineties. My husband held fast to thoughts of positivity, but I ventured into the realm of realism very early because I knew that life always gives you something that you perceive to be unfair and unbearable. That drop was unbearable.

The twist and turns came in the next few months with the fantastic ultrasound test that showed no signs of Down syndrome at all on our little one. But of course, me being the president of the realm of realistic notions, I couldn’t allow myself to be too relieved. But could anyone really blame me? I mean if my child was to be born with Down syndrome, wouldn’t I, as her mother, need to be there for her? If the doctor pulled her from my womb and the true visualization of her features set in, and she bore obvious signs of that extra chromosome, I would still reach for my child and hold her tighter than a mother bear.

My husband and parents could step out of the room and regain their composures, while going through the stages of grief all the way to acceptance and unconditional love. But me, being momma, I needed to go through that ahead of time, so when my baby girl was handed to me the only thing she would feel was my undying and unwavering love for her.

I did the only thing I could do: I prayed. Not to take away any disabilities or deformities. How could I? How could I be so presumptuous to ask God to make my life any easier than the next person’s? No one has it easy. No, instead I prayed for a healthy beautiful baby girl. And I spent hours telling God “thank you.” I was grateful that I could conceive, and that I had a great husband who also would love our daughter unconditionally. I was thankful for the roof over my head and the qualities that my loving parents instilled in me, because during my pregnancy there was barely a week that went by without hearing about a woman killing or abandoning the baby she didn’t want. I was thankful to have compassion and natural human affection. I spent hours crying and speaking my peace with God, knowing that no matter how different she might be, my daughter was a direct gift from Him and I knew that I only wanted what was best for my child, which is to be better than me. That is what all parents truly want.

When the delivery was over, so was that ride of loops and drops. Because when they handed me my little girl all I saw were her perfections, no flaws. And my husband thanked me for bringing our child into the world. Even now, two years later he still thanks me, and I still thank God because he answered my prayers.

This entire ordeal taught me many lessons about life and our ability to make it harder than it needs to be. Sometimes we ourselves are the disasters we try so hard to avoid. It’s our thinking and our mindset that end up getting the best of us and turning something that can be conquered into a mountain of pain. I learned that you don’t have to be a saint to put trust in a higher power to guide you. I could have allowed the fear of the unknown to destroy me, to cause me to become so paralyzed that I lost my ability to avert a disaster. We all have that ability, regardless of what life sends our way. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but also what we perceive as a catastrophe is ultimately left up to our own interpretations.  

Now I am on a new rollercoaster ride. New twists, turns, and drops, each one filled with thoughts of fear and despair. But this ride is called motherhood. Every day I am forced to reset my thinking and my viewpoint on things. I remind myself that it is my choice as to whether something is a mountain or a molehill. Do I choose to wallow in negative thoughts of impending doom or do I look for the way out of the tunnel, the light that is always at the end? Because when I look at my life over the past couple of years, every disaster that has come my way has made my family and me stronger and more versatile. And every blessing that has come our way is received with gratitude and graciousness.

Do I see everything through rose colored glasses now? Not in the least. I was and will always be a realist. Seeing life for what it is will constantly require an endless readjusting of our minds. The truth is, we never truly stop riding the rollercoaster. We can only hope to learn how to enjoy it as much as possible. If we don’t, we are doomed to see every event as something to cower in front of. You don’t get to know when it is coming, and you don’t get to know what it will be, but you do get to choose how it will affect your life: mountain or molehill? I choose to see the twists and turns of my pregnancy as the blessing they always have been. My daughter has no real health issues or problems, no heart defects and no developmental delays. She is healthy and beautiful, with a smile that will bring the world to its knees. All that I truly wanted was for my baby girl to be healthy and smart. She is beyond everything I could have dreamed possible. When I look into her eyes, I am aware that she may have difficult days ahead, but she will have many happy ones, and on her worst day she is still better than I am.

Sleep, baby, sleep
Your father tends the sheep
Your mother shakes the dreamland tree
And from it fall sweet dreams for thee
Sleep, baby, sleep
Sleep, baby, sleep.^[1]

Babies are such cute bundles of joy. They are simply adorable and very innocent. The birth of a baby is a miraculous event, and all babies deserve to be loved, no matter where they are born.

Lullabies are love songs written for them. Parents sing lullabies to their precious loved ones to send them sweetly into their dreams. In almost every culture, lullabies are inspirations and prayers for precious little children. Such songs hand down the hopes and dreams of parents, from generation to generation.

“Hush-a-bye” is a lullaby with a story behind it. It was collected by Alan Lomax, who learned it from his mother, who took it from North Carolina to Texas after the Civil War^[2]. It was originally sung by an African American slave. The “lambie” symbolizes the slave-mother’s child, for whom she is unable to care because she is too busy taking care of her owner’s child, to whom the song is being sung. The lullaby’s sourness is cleverly hidden in the comparison between the two children: one is a protected white child growing up privileged and the other is a black baby, left defenseless in nature^[3].

Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you’ll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.

Black and bay, dapple and grey,
Coach and six little horses,
Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby,
When you wake, you’ll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.

Way down yonder, down in the meadow,
There’s a poor wee little lamby.
The bees and the butterflies pickin’ at its eyes,
The poor wee thing cried for her mammy.

Hush-a-bye, don’t you cry,
Go to sleepy little baby.
When you wake, you’ll have cake,
And all the pretty little horses.

Other than being musical stories, lullabies are also beautiful gifts from a parent’s heart to a baby’s ear. Every parent around the world sings a delightful lullaby in her native tongue to relax their child. Lullabies are great examples of how we show love in similar ways all around the world. There is no difference between us and the people on the other end of the world when it comes to our affection for our babies. We all love our babies and open our hearts to them with these songs. There are different lyrics or different rhythms, but they express the same love, support, and concern for the little human beings.

For example, in an Armenian lullaby, a mother says:

The south wind rocks you back and forth
Let the stars converse with you
And the sun and moon calm you
The wild deer will offer its milk
Sleep, sleep.^[5]

And an Azerbaijani lullaby goes as follows:

Every passing bird, every river
Says lay-lay to you my baby
In our most joyful and beautiful motherland
You are my pride and joy
You are my soul that is within my own soul
Your breath is so clean and innocent
Like the light wind in the field.^[6]

Although there is a long history of conflict between the two south Caucasus countries, there is no difference in a parent’s compassion and warm wishes for their children. They both pick nature up as their babies’ playmates and want them to grow up within that nature. Both of the lullabies can comfort a baby with a familiar voice.

Below are two lullabies from Israel and an Arabic country, Morocco. Would you be able to tell which one is from which country?

The first one is:

Sleep, my little girl, sleep
Sleep, my darling one, sleep
Daddy has gone off to work.
To work, to work he’s gone.
He’ll be back when the moon rises
With a gift for his little one.^[7]

And the other one is:

Sleep my baby
Until the meal’s ready.
And if it isn’t,
The neighbor’s will be.

Sleep my baby
Until your mommy’s arrived
The bread is on the table
The sweets are on the tray.^[8]

The former is from Israel and the latter from Morocco, but universal love is embedded into the message of both lullabies. They both touch our hearts. They are both very special in every way. No stereotypes, no wars, no hatred is passed on to babies; only love, and peace, are fostered in lullabies. Thus, lullabies provide an excellent tool to teach children to love all creatures. They allow the sharing of emotions that are filtered and softened by mothers’ heart. When people comfort their babies or make them feel more secure by singing them a lullaby, they also teach them the biggest life lessons. Lullabies smoothly whisper the essentials of life, the common needs of all human beings to babies’ ears.

Talking about the essentials of life, the adversities in life are a fact that the children must also be prepared for. But even when talking about the negative aspects of life, lullabies introduce them gently. An intelligent lullaby from Turkey passes along good wishes to a child, but also teaches a valuable lesson.

Dandini dandini dastana
Into the garden the calves did stray.
Gardener quickly chases them away.
Don’t let them eat the cabbages,
Huuu huuu huuu

Dandini dandini danadan
A moon is born from a mother’s womb,
God has not withheld anything from him
May God protect him from the Evil Eye
Huuu huuu huu hu

Dandini dandini danayli
May our pots be coated with tin
May my daughter be a bride in a mansion
And my son dwell in a palace
Huuu huuu huu hu.^[4]

In this lullaby, a mother’s desire for her son not to get married to a girl she does not approve is hidden beneath the lyrics in an amazingly clever way. The calf symbolizes the son and the garden represents life, while the gardener is the father, and cabbage is the girl that is not approved of by the boy’s mother. So the mother wants the father to keep that girl away.

There are lullabies like the one above that are very personal and private, in which the narrator expresses how she really feels and thinks about certain issues while telling her stories. Such songs can help a parent express their own emotions more clearly, too, especially when they are unable to share them with others. Thus, lullabies soothe and help not only the babies but also the adults.

Lullabies are helpful to put babies to sleep and are useful for adults to enjoy the time that is spent with their children. A lullaby’s magic comes to life in a parent’s voice. These gentle melodies allow parents, who are a child’s first teachers, to impart valuable lessons in a soothing way. A personal message or story is planted elegantly into the lyrics. A loving parent embraces their precious baby with a beautiful lullaby. Plenty of joy, peace and love fill up the room at night when a loving voice smoothly sings:

Goodnight moon, goodnight stars and goodnight my little angel,
Close your eyes and open them to sweet dreams my sweetheart…

References

¹ http://www.romantic-lyrics.com/lullabylyrics/sleepbabysleep.shtml

² http://kids.niehs.nih.gov/lyrics/prettyhorses.htm

³ http://www.robertbohm.com/publications/3.html

⁴ http://lullabiesofeurope.wetpaint.com/page/Lullabies+(Turkish)

⁵ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lullabies_of_Armenia

⁶ http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lullaby

⁷ http://www.hebrewsongs.com/song-numinumi.htm

⁸ http://www.mamalisa.com/?t=es&p=1249&c=168

“Honey, you already fasted last year for three days, didn’t you?” replied her mother, hardly able to hide her smile.

“Mom! I don’t mean a ‘kid’s fasting’. I am talking about the real stuff,” she said raising her soft voice.

“It is wonderful that you want to fast but you need to grow up some more. Why don’t you first try your ‘kid’s fast’ again tomorrow, fast until noon, then have your lunch. I am sure even angels will look down at you with admiration. They will say ‘Wow! Such a brave girl! She is only five years old and yet she already fasts for half of the day.'”

Rolling her eyes, she protested to her mother once again:

“Mom I am not a baby anymore! My sister is fasting, my older brother is fasting, you are fasting, and dad is fasting. Everybody is fasting except for my baby brothers and I. Please mom, I can do it, I want to do it, please…”

“Dear, you are a very strong girl, I know, but you see your stomach is still very little. Your hands, your mouth, you are still a little person. You already know that children don’t need to fast until they are a lot older. Maybe next year, or the year after you can try to fast a day or two, and when you become a teenager, you’ll be fasting the entire Ramadan. But this year you’ll only be doing the kid’s fast.”

As she looked at her little daughter hoping that her words would end the discussion, her heart was overflowing with such a joy and happiness, in the midst of compassion. How proud she was! She uttered a silent little prayer inside, “My little angel, O my dear Lord, please keep the love of worship and devotion overflowing from her heart her entire life with a child-like purity and sincerity, just like now.”

As soon as the little girl’s dark eyes caught her mother’s lips moving, she jump off of her seat. She must have had thought that it was a green light, and that her mother was about to say “yes.”

“Great!” she screamed, her face was enlightened with an excitement. Hardly grasping a breath, she continued: “Then you can wake me up for the early morning breakfast before dawn. Then I can have enough food and water and then be prepared for a day of fasting. I am so happy. And then…”

Her mother and father looked at each other, somewhat reluctant, and then her father interrupted her. “Dear, it seems like you are not listening to what your mother is saying. I know you are a brave girl, and your mother told me that your friends have been calling you ‘fearless’ since the day you challenged them and climbed all the way up to the top of the power pole on the street. I also know you love God, and you want to begin your journey as an obedient servant, and you are excited about your first full fasting, but you are missing something my dear…”

Ready to protest again, her little fingers swayed back and forth over her fork and spoon, and she asked: “What? What is it that I am missing?”

“You also have to be patient. God willing, next year you could try to do one full day of fasting.”

About to burst into tears, she mumbled with a barely audible voice:

“I am fasting tomorrow, whether or not you wake me up for the early breakfast. I am ready and I am fasting tomorrow!”

Her older sister sitting next to her couldn’t help hearing her murmuring and she whispered into her ears: “Oh, you are more stubborn than a goat!”

As she left the table and went back to her room, she wasn’t sure who the winner of the argument was. She climbed up to her bunk bed and closed her eyes tight. She murmured: “Tomorrow will be my first real fasting!”

As soon as she opened her eyes in the morning, she jumped out of bed, almost falling down as she climbed down, and ran to the window. It was already very bright outside. Was it already morning? Had she missed the dawn? Did everybody oversleep? She ran to her parents’ room, screaming:

“Mom, dad, wake up! We overslept, we overslept!”

She saw that her father had already gone, and her mother was about to finish her daily reading of the Qur’an.

“Honey,” said her mother. “I thought we had reached an agreement last night.” She wasn’t able to get any answer from her daughter, so she continued: “Our Creator is so merciful that He never asks us to do anything that is more than we can bear, it is not only children, but many adults are also excused from fasting. For instance, do you remember when I had your baby brother, I didn’t fast for a while, or when your grandmother got very sick and had to take so many medications, she skipped some days of fasting. When you become old enough and your body gets stronger, I know you will be super cool with your fasting, but now I don’t want you to rush into something before you are ready and lose your enthusiasm for later.” She was ready to continue but when she saw the tears in her little angel’s eyes, she stopped and hugged her: “Okay, okay young lady, let’s make an agreement then. You can try and keep your fast as long as you can but it is a summer day, it will be long and very hot so when you get really thirsty, hungry or tired, you can take a few minutes break, then you can continue your fasting. If you forget that you are fasting and eat or drink something, that’s okay, that means angels are trying to help you with the blessings from heaven. And don’t forget, no matter how you do, I am proud of you.”

Finally all the shine and happiness came back to her eyes and the little girl answered: “Deal mom!”

A couple of hours later, she decided to go outside to play. It was really warm outside. She looked around to see if any of her friends were around but she could only see a few shadows from the distance. First she thought about running over to play with them, but then she felt a little tired. Instead, she sat down on the brick pavement.

” I guess I am tired, and it is not even noon yet!” She bent over her stomach and began to chat: “Hey there! How do you feel? Are you hungry?” The only response from her little stomach was a rumbling voice. She smiled and patted herself on the stomach: “Listen, we are growing up today and learning to be patient. Think about all the poor people in the world, they cannot find food most of the time, now do you understand them better?” It seemed like her stomach was convinced and stopped rumbling, she was so proud of herself. With a big smile on her face, she started to watch people passing by on the street.

All of a sudden she heard her favorite sound of summer. A street vendor was calling out: “Snow cones! I have snow cones! Snow cones with all the flavors!” She forgot about everything and quickly checked her pockets. Yes! She had enough money to buy whichever flavor she liked. She rushed to the snow cone vendor and shouted: “Hey, wait! Wait for me! May I have a chocolate flavored snow cone please? You know what, give me the one with lemon and strawberry flavor as well.”

The vendor was a dark skinned young man. As he handed her snow cones wrapped with blue papers, he greeted his favorite customer with a big smile: “Look at you! You have grown up a lot since last year.”

She giggled and handed the money. She was hardly able to hold all three snow cones in one hand, the weather was so warm that they started to melt and drip all over her hands. She didn’t seem to mind, the coolness of the icy drops helped her cool down a little, but it also made her feel her thirst even more. In a hurry as she was trying to unwrap the blue paper from the first one, she noticed the vendor’s dark face, now even darker due to walking under the sun trying to sell all the snow cones and his lips were cracked probably because of thirst. She felt so selfish to have all these three snow cones for herself. A little shy and hesitant, she extended one of them to the man and said: “Please have one of them, three is too much for me anyway.” The man answered: “You are a generous girl, but thank you, I am fasting.” Suddenly, time stopped and she remembered that she also was fasting. “Oh ok,” she said nodding her head goodbye to the vendor and headed back to the brick she was sitting on a few minutes ago. With her stomach rumbling, she mumbled: “So am I, so am I!”

As her vendor friend disappeared around the corner, she didn’t know how to feel. She looked around, there was no one watching her. Well, nobody would think that she was fasting anyway. Her stomach started rumbling again, her lips felt dryer than ever, her hands were covered with the cool-sweet snow cone drips. She took a deep breath, stood up, and began to run towards to children playing in the distance. As she was running her heart was pounding, the ground under her feet felt like it was slipping away and her lips were constantly moving: “I am fasting, I am fasting. My dear God, I promised you, I am fasting today.” As she reached the children, she was gasping for the air and her legs were shaking, she could hardly call out to them: “Hey guys, do you want some snow cones?”

As she walked away from the children enjoying the cool sweet snow cones, her stomach had stopped rumbling, her lips were still dry but wide open with a big smile. Her heartbeat had slowed down and felt like it could fit into it the entire universe. She took her every step with such confidence, she felt like a big oak tree. Her fingers were still sticky and wet, and her lips were still moving: “I am fasting today, I am fasting. I am fasting for the sake of My dear God.”

***

“Excuse me, could you speak a little louder?” With the kind voice of the moderator, she was pulled back from her childhood. It was an interfaith group meeting where people were discussing various faith related topics including their stories in regards to how they shaped them as adults. She must have zoned out in the midst of the last question.

“Oh I’m sorry!” she said, clearing her throat nervously and a little embarrassed. “Where were we?”

As her group-mates smiled at her, the moderator answered:

“So it was your turn. Would you care to share with us your first memory of when you felt the presence of God in your life? It might be very difficult to pin-point, maybe in your teenage years or later? It’s okay if you can’t recall the exact moment, we are just causally sharing.”

She quickly glanced at the wondering faces of her friends. After 20 some years, she could still feel the cold-sugary drips on her hands. With a smile, she took a deep breath before she started to tell her story….

“That’s okay, I know exactly what moment it was.”

Ayse Kubra Coskun, MD, is currently serving as Vice President of Boston Dialogue Foundation.

Barbara Koerth is a freelance writer and has written published poetry and continues to do so. She lives in the Houston area with her husband and children. She is currently studying Psychology.

“No, my dear, I cannot see God. No one can see Him,” was her mother’s reply.

Unsatisfied with this answer, the girl then approached her father for confirmation. “Can you give me a photo of God, papa?” she asked, waiting to see her father laugh at her innocence.

“Why do you need one, my dear?” her father inquired; she then asked her next question. “Can you see Him, Papa?

“No, my child, we cannot see Him. We just know that He’s kind and Merciful.”

The girl now looked for her grandfather, who had once told her “God is the Most Beautiful.” Her Grandpa always had comforting answers for her strange and wonderful questions. “Grandpa, will you tell me the truth about something?”

“I will never tell you a lie, my child.” Her grandfather’s words reassured her that she could always trust him. “Can you see God, Grandpa? Mama and Papa cannot see Him.”

“I see nothing but God, my child,” her grandfather answered with a sincere smile on his serene face.

Pervisha Khan is a student of B.s Hons. Mass Communication at Lahore College for Women University , Pakistan.

She stopped in front of a vast puddle. “What do you think? Is it possible?” she asked her reflection in the murky water. “No way,” snapped back the image. “With a bunch of brothers and sisters and cousins donating their hand-me-downs every year you stand no chance.”

“Oh well! Hope springs eternal,” muttered the little girl and avenged the answer by stomping on the cruel “other.”

She hurried up to the school just around the corner. There was no one in sight. She was late again. Teachers’ voices blended from the broken windows. She entered her classroom. The teacher let her take her seat with a reproachful look that set her cheeks on fire instantly. The little girl wondered how her cheeks could burn while her feet were ice cold.

She scanned the class discreetly after she had taken her seat. All she saw was a bunch of freezing kids, a door that would not close, and windows that, like her shoes, welcomed everything in. She tried to think of something funny to lift up her spirit. Alas! Even jokes were scarce in her life. Patience was the only thing she had in abundance to help her survive till the end of the school day.

The little girl took the same path in the opposite direction toward home, lost in her thoughts. She felt very insignificant and the fact that her problem seemed irrelevant to the rest of the world increased her desperation.

* * *

At home Mom heard the little girl bark a terrible cough by the burning stove. She fixed her stare on the little shoes drying nearby, then grabbed the shoes and checked them as she had done several times before, only to confirm that in their desolate state the shoes could not stand one more nail. They were about to fall apart. Now it was Mom’s turn to worry.

“Mom, let me buy her new shoes!” Big Sister saved the day. She was volunteering to buy them from her pocket money, usually spent on stuff for her trousseau. Mom consented to Big Sister’s proposal, despite Grandma’s strong belief that it was past the time for her to get married anyway.

The little heart leapt with joy. “For real? Brand new shoes? Tomorrow?”

* * *

The next day came with a lethargic sun, as much anticipated tomorrows always do. The little girl was anxious.

“Let’s go!” The two sisters walked along the street, the big one squeezing her money, the little one squeezing her heart to keep it in place.

The shoe store struck the little girl with terror. It was unpleasantly cold. The saleswoman snailed around, making things worse. Most unfortunately, there was nothing on the metal grid shelves except for a pair of papa-sized boots and a couple of black slippers. Her little heart sank.

The saleswoman and Big Sister exchanged pleasantries. The saleswoman spoke annoyingly slowly as if chatting for the first time in a very long while. Finally the chitchat was over.

“I would like to buy a new pair of shoes for my sister,” Big Sister said, emphasizing the “new” unnecessarily. She was handling the situation so calmly you would think she was buying her daily bread.

The saleswoman stared at the little girl from head to toe and back, though all she needed to inspect were her feet. “I don’t think I have anything for her,” she said matter-of-factly, ”but let me check to be sure.” She disappeared into the unlit back. The little girl wished the saleswoman might disappear completely rather than come back empty-handed. She could take waiting a lifetime, but facing empty hands would be unbearable.

The saleswoman came back with a box. “What’s her size?” The big sister muttered the number. “A one-size-fits-all size,” translated the little heart. “This pair is one size smaller, but this is the closest I can get.” The saleswoman was obviously paying attention only to Big Sister.

The little girl took the right shoe. She almost swooned at the smell of new leather. She squeezed her foot into the shoe. “It hurts, but don’t show it,” said her little heart. She suddenly turned into Cinderella’s stepsister, ready to cut off her toes if need be. Big Sister, not easily fooled, bent down and felt the curled toes. “No, no, you can’t walk straight with these shoes.” The little girl stepped back, defiant. “You’ll have to cut my feet off to take them off me!” her eyes challenged.

The saleswoman, sensing a storm approaching, made a move to prevent the family crisis. “Why don’t you come on Monday?” she said. “A new shipment will be available then.” The girl watched the saleswoman’s face intently for a wink at Big Sister. Deadly serious, the saleswoman did not even blink. With no other option, the little girl dragged herself out of the store.

The two sisters walked silently on the street, the big one squeezing the money, the little one clenching her fists. Too bad there was no one to punch. The little heart was ice cold, yet a flickering flame of faint hope kept burning in a far corner.

“Who am I kidding?” thought the little girl. “Even if she gets new supplies, who says she will get my size? Besides, in two days there is plenty of time for my sister to change her mind or spend the money on some you-can’t-find-it–elsewhere bedspread. By Monday there is even enough time, God forbid, for some distant relative to materialize from nowhere with a pair of very old, smelly shoes, and that would be a nightmare.”

They entered their small apartment. The little girl went straight to her room and sat on her bed, painfully hearing Big Sister explain to Mom and Grandma why they had returned empty-handed. She heard the door open slowly, but she did not turn to look, knowing that no one else but Grandma could be coming in.

Grandma sat by her side with a frown. In her story-telling voice she spoke:

“Once upon a time, there lived a young man in a very far land. He walked down the streets of his little town looking at his shabby shoes, feeling very unhappy, and wondering why he couldn’t have a new pair of shoes. At that moment he passed by a beggar leaning on an oak tree, his hand stretched out asking for alms. As he looked closely he realized that the beggar had no legs. The young man grew very sad and felt ashamed of himself. ‘Shame on me! This man doesn’t have feet and I am feeling miserable because I don’t have decent shoes.’ He reproached himself and gave thanks to God for his feet.” Smiling and caressing little girl’s hair, Grandma continued, “See, my dear, do not despair. God willing, you will get what you don’t have. Meanwhile be thankful for what you already have. Contentment of the heart is the greatest of treasures.”

The little girl, having understood very swiftly the message of the story could not help but comment, “But Grandma, I want to be grateful for my feet and a pair of new shoes.” Grandma smiled at her and whispered, as if revealing a well-kept secret, “God increases the bounties when we thank him. If you are thankful for your feet, he may grant you a pair of shoes as well. Remember, contentment of the heart is the greatest treasure.” After kissing the little girl on the forehead, she left the room as quietly as she had entered it.

The little girl tried to reason, although her brain was turned upside down. “That seems like good advice. What could I be thankful for?” she asked herself. “Well, I have a wonderful grandmother for a start,” she thought with a smile.

* * *

On Monday afternoon they went back to the store. First, the saleswoman smiled at them, and then she sluggishly disappeared into the back. “Thank goodness this time I was spared the torment of pleasantries,” the little girl thought, relieved.

With a box in her hands and the air of a savior on her face the saleswoman returned. She lifted the lid and handed the right shoe to the little girl. It fit perfectly. Ta da! Boy, would Cinderella be surprised, or should I say jealous! Stepsister or no, this time she got the shoes. Her little heart was overflowing with bliss until Big Sister stepped into the middle of the majestic celebration. Now what?

“The color…,” she said. “Dark red is not a very appropriate color. Only black and brown polishes are available. They’ll soon get muddy.”

“I did my best,” the saleswoman announced in surrender. Little eyes pleaded with Big Sister, the shoebox crushed in an unyielding embrace. With the saleswoman no longer an ally, Big Sister waved the white flag.

They left the store with the new shoes inside the box. The new shoes would look wonderful under her desk tomorrow. The whole school would marvel at them. Her little heart was beating like a crazy bird in a cage. Her prayer had been answered.

Wait a minute! The girl stopped. Remembering what her grandmother had told her, she paused and whispered, “Thank you,” to the One who had given her all bounties.

“I will never forget this day,” the little girl promised.

* * *

But the little girl did forget her promise for many years until the day she witnessed a father trying hard to convince his whining little child that plain shoes are as good as the ones with Pooh Bear printed on them. She once again longed for that sincere thank-you, craving the genuine way it came out of her lips on that memorable day of her life when she got her first ever brand-new shoes.

Mirkena Ozer had her major in Turkish language and literature. She lives in Atlanta, Georgia.

Diana Eck, leader of Harvard University’s Pluralism Project, introduces readers to America’s new religious landscape of mosques, temples, and monasteries. Focusing mainly on the period after the passage of the 1965 Immigration and Naturalization Act, she calls this change very subtle and largely unnoticed.

She discusses the meaning of religious diversity and freedom. Basing herself on the Great Seal of the United States ”E pluribus unum (From Many, One) ” she asks: What is the measure of our manyness? What is the meaning of our oneness? Each religion and culture, she asserts, has its own way of addressing these questions.

For example, a Muslim imam referred to Qur’an 49:13 in the Chamber of the U.S. House of Representatives: Do you not know, O people, that I have made you into tribes and nations that you may know each other? Hinduism’s Rig Veda (I.64.46) says: Truth is One. People call it by many names.

The author defines pluralism as the dynamic process through which we engage with one another in and through our very deepest differences. Some of its manifestations are Nikes and Reeboks adorning shoe racks in gurdwaras, mosques, and temples; a Muslim Girl Scout who promises to serve Allah and my country; and consecration rituals at a Hindu temple using a mixture of sacred Ganges river water and regular Mississippi river water.

This well-written and thought-provoking book provides an historical context, describes legal battles and pivotal court cases, and addresses stereotypes, religiously motivated hate crimes, how some communities have welcomed religious pluralism, and appropriate models for engagement.

What is malformation? If a little girl, with six fingers on one hand, says she loves her sixth finger very much, how do we tell her she is malformed?

Blepharoptosis is a condition in which the upper eyelid droops in consequence of paralysis of muscles or nerves. But would we say that having drooping eyelids, eyes with short palpebral fissures, is a malformation? Would we not then have to say that most Chinese and Japanese have somewhat ‘malformed’ eyes?.

If the little girl’s sixth finger causes her no impediment, except for its appearance, would it be right to think of it as a ‘disability’ or a ‘problem’? On that criterion, obesity or anorexia nervosa could also be considered as disability. They are not only disagreeable in appearance but also impair physical and social function. Such impairment must surely be part of any definition of disability.

But this too raises a question. If an abnormality does not cause impairment of function, but only makes a person ugly, do we consider it a disability? Who will judge the level of ugliness, the individual or society? A schoolgirl with polydactylism – more than five fingers or five toes; a young man with alopecia universalis – absence at all hair, on the head and body; a teenage girl with ichthyosis vulgaris (xeroderma) – a severe skin disorder which causes an ugly appearance – if such conditions do not cause any impairment, if people have got used to seeing them, the individuals may not perceive themselves as ugly and therefore not feel distress. But if their appearance does disturb others and they feel distressed as a result, should we describe them as normal or disabled’? A little girl in a nursery school may be afraid of holding up a polydactyl hand; his co-workers may be upset by sharing a workplace with a man suffering from alopecia universalis; a hair dresser may not want to cut the hair or manicure the nails of a girl who suffers from ichthyosis vulgaris.

Plainly, clinical definitions do not define or cover disability. Sociological reflections are also important. Sometimes it is more important to ask how people around a particular individual perceive that individual, than to ask how medical science defines his or her condition.

There are situations where individuals do not feel handicapped and find their lives valuable and worth living, but people around them are upset by them and label them as disabled. In contrast to this, there are some cases, in which, the individual is considered medically ‘normal’, is perceived as ‘normal’ by society, and his or her condition does not cause any impairment, but that individual thinks that a particular part of his or her body is a problem and tries to find a ‘solution’ to it. These ‘solutions’ are an important part of the plastic surgeon’s workload. It is not easy to explain the circumstances which disturb people so much that they take the risk of surgery. But we may infer another factor to define disability namely the psychological state of the individual. The individual may not have any physical abnormality but psychologically he or she feels abnormal. Hospital records abound with such cases.

Among the most difficult ‘abnormalities’ are anomalies affecting the newborn and congenital malformations. There are 200 such ‘disabilities’ (see Goodman and Gorlin 1983). Among them are Downs Syndrome, Spina Bifida and Fetal Alcohol Syndrome. The distress caused by such illnesses has led to attempts to identify cases as early as possible. In order to do this, scientists have established new prenatal diagnostic methods such as USG (ultrasound), amniocentesis, CSV (cholonic villi sampling) and photocopy. 60-65% of malformations can be diagnosed with these methods (Goodman and Gorlin, 1983, p.83). However, we must define our aims clearly to protect humankind from being victims of these improvements. Goodman (1986, pp2l4-17) suggests that prenatal diagnosis is used for monitoring the pregnancy, to localize the placenta, to detect multiple pregnancies, to know fetal age correctly, to monitor probable congenital malformation and to make studies about the genetic, biochemical and chromosomal structure of the fetus. These are all aims which are innocent and for the benefit of humankind. But, like all other new technologies, they do raise moral questions.

Before 1977, prenatal diagnosis was rare in Sweden. The number of late terminations because of fetal abnormality was 34 in that year. By the end of the 1980s, this number had reached 100 per year. 40% of these terminations were because of Downs Syndrome and 15% because of NTD (Neural Tube Defect) (Reid, 1991, p.77). Introduction of the technologies to Portugal, Greece and Germany led to new legislation on the termination of pregnancies (Reid, 1991, p.9).

Despite all measures and methods of elimination, disabled babies continue to be born. Maybe attention should be turned to treatment and rehabilitation. Although it is not always possible to correct impairment completely, quality of life can be improved through a variety of rehabilitation methods.

Almost half of handicapped newborns die in the first year of life and 80% of the rest need corrective surgery or lifetime therapy. For this reason, treatment and rehabilitation are costly options. But after the improvement of surgical sciences, especially plastic surgery in recent years, the remediability of many conditions has increased.

Remediability or irremediability of disabilities is of crucial importance in determining the treatment offered to handicapped newborns. Decisions about remediability or irremediability are made by doctors. The reasoning and judgments of philosophers, theologians, sociologists, other experts (and, of course, parents) are informed by data supplied by doctors. The objectivity of that data is not unquestionable. Dr John Freeman (quoted in Kuhse and Singer 1985, p.63) observed: ‘It concerns me greatly that a given child born in Sheffield has a 75% chance of being dead; that the same child born in Baltimore…has a 95% chance of being alive. And yet this is a decision made by the parents on the advice of either Dr Lorber or myself. That is scary.’

In this discussion of the definition of ‘disability’, we have tried to show that it and related terms cannot be solely the domain of doctors. It is true that scientists are vital in this area but they need to be aware of societal and religious issues. We cannot leave decisions about ‘disability’ to scientists who worship only science.