Beauty and the Beast: Love and Disability

While marking books and finishing the preparations for writing my final paper for Intro to Theology--Prolegomena to a Caregiver Theology: Current Works on Disability Theology in Dialogue--I decided to drown out the baseball game in the other room with one of my old favorites, Beauty and the Beast.  (Note: the title for my paper is still in progress.  If you have any suggestions, please let me know!)  From a very young age, I found that I worked better with a movie that I knew very well in the background.  On the list of study movies is You've Got Mail, Beauty and the Beast, Sound of Music, Pride and Prejudice (A&E version, the Keira Knightley rendition makes me too mad), Amazing Grace, The Little Mermaid, 10 Things I Hate About You and How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  I know it's a bit of an eclectic list, but all of these movies share one critical feature: I know them so well, I can be reading intense discourse on subjects such as "God is the pure possibility of being" and still be able to anticipate the next line, song, or action of the movie without ever looking at what's on the screen or being distracted from the topic at hand.  All this said, it's no surprise that I would choose to put Beauty and the Beast on while I did my work this evening.  But, as God is apt to do, even this small, mundane choice served a divine purpose that I am still unpacking.

I had a brief thought as I got started on my work this evening that started a whole train reflections.  To begin with, I think I'm a lot like Belle.  I may not be perfectly proportioned or walk around with my nose in a book without ever running into something or hurting myself, but Belle and I, I like to think, share an independent streak.  I'll admit, when I was in high school, I wished for an independent streak without every realizing I already had it.  In fact, it probably wasn't until I started dating Justin that I really identified with my own sense of self-strength and independence.  (As a side note, I find it enlightening and refreshing that I connected with this part of myself in a deeper way the more vulnerable I became with Justin--isn't it wonderful that this is even more true with God?!)  I see this in Belle in a remarkable sense: she longs for an existence outside "the normal," she sacrifices her own freedom for her father's--which is, significantly, in a different mode than the "normal" female sacrifice of identity for the sake of her male authority figure--and she dares to see something lovable and dear about a man in a different shape than the "norm." (Are we noticing the abundance of "normal" talk here?)  All of these steps requires a strong sense of identity and an independent spirit.  All of these are steps I, in some for or fashion, have taken in my life. 

Yet, in this identification with Belle, I noticed something troubling:  the potential for long-term issues between Belle and the Beast goes away, all because she says "I love you."  Now, don't get me wrong, I think this story has a very important lesson to teach young girls.  But, like most Disney fairy tales, it also neglects a very important aspect of life: love only makes thing more complicated, not less.  And, the more "different" the object of your love, the more complicated life can become.  I love my differently-shaped, disabled, and dear-hearted husband, and our love is complicated.  Sometimes it is complicated by us, sometimes it feels complicated by the world in which we interact.  Either way, the wheelchair that has scratched up my walls, run over my toes, and "broken in" many of my shoes did not disappear the moment I proclaimed my love for Justin or even when we said our wedding vows. At the end of the fairy tale, Belle and the Beast--now a tall, strong and capable man---look "normal" together, dressed in their finest and dancing with all the grace a beast can't quite manage.  But, I wonder about Belle's sense of self. The ending of the movie can be read as "Look, girls, have a sense of identity and independence.  Choose to love the unlovable, and you will be rewarded!  All will turn out right in the end, and the man of your dreams will appear to protect and love you properly so you won't need to be independent any more."

I know this is a rather cynical reading of what might be an innocent fairy tale, but for once, I'd like the Beast to remain as he was.  To discover and grow in love in the midst of and through the "beastly" is the reality of my existence and that of many others.  I wouldn't change it.  I think Belle was on the right track when she said, "I want adventure in the great wide, somewhere...and for once, it might be grand to have someone understand, I want so much more than they've got planned."  Oh to be brave enough to embrace our grand adventure as it comes with all its twists and turns, its wheelchairs and impairments--how could it be a grand adventure without them?!

Disabled Living

What an interesting semester it has been!  With all the craziness of running between the seminary and the music school, sometimes I feel dizzy with the multiple fields of study I have to hold in my head at the same time: organ performance, service playing, organ literature, academic theology, liturgy and liturgical theology, much less taking care of my husband and our home..."overwhelmed" often feels too soft of a word for the daily realities of life.

One significant development this semester is my choice to embrace disability and caregiver theology as a life work.  My final project in Intro to Theology is a paper outlining current work in disability theology, which I will use as a launching off point later on in my studies to develop a whole theology of caregiving in relationship to disability theology.  I find this work incredibly fulfilling and meaningful, and taking in the information and processing is a joy.  However, on days like today, the caregiving catches up to me and I encounter one of my own disabilities: a lack of courage to speak.

In Intro to Theology, we are currently reading Places of Redemption by Mary McClintock Fulkerson.  One of the central issues Fulkerson's text raises is how bodies in a church function based on the expectations of "normalcy" between different races and bodily abilities (able-bodied/disabled).  Portions of this text speak profoundly to me as she discusses a church that commits to minister to local group homes and "special needs" individuals.  Justin decided to come to class with me yesterday morning because he knew this was a topic we would be discussing and he was interested to hear what the professor had to say and give his own unique point of view.

I loved what Justin had to say during class, and I think it brought to the foreground issues that churches do not always think about unless those with disabilities are a constant voice of criticism, such as "This is a very poor place to put someone in a wheelchair because every time people stand up, I'm cut off from the actions of worship."  However, I caught myself wanting to temper what Justin said several times because I felt like people would listen better to him if he was more gracious with the able-bodied approach.  But then, when I thought that way, the part of me that realizes the need for the disabled to have a voice would fight back and say, "No! Let them deal with the honesty Justin is offering--the honesty he expresses is your daily reality, and you trying to protect them from your reality does no one any good!"

But, being honest with people in a class about the real-ness of life with a disabled man is an overwhelming and draining experience.  When the sucking sound of stress and busyness is already close at hand, trying to explain and justify my life experience is a disabling experience.  My classmates get to leave class and walk away from how the church should respond to the disabled and come back to it another time.  I don't.  How church and society respond to the disabled shapes how my husband and I function to such an extent that on the best days I have intense energy to bring change and on the worst days, despair seeps in through the seams of my exterior able-bodied armor.

I am disabled--I lack courage at times when courage is most necessary, and my words are crippled when I most need them.

Praise to the abundant God who injects life in our weakest places!

Mystic Theology and No-Makeup Days

I told a friend this blog would be a theological treatise on what I've spent the morning reading, but I'm afraid I may need to repent of this self-imposed expectation.  Not that what follows is not of some theological substance, but that this is not your normal "theological treatise."  In the last few weeks, I have come to more fully embrace what I think I've known for a very long--if I am anything, I am a mystical theologian.  I know for many the use of the word "mystical" is off-putting, because in our day and age such terminology usually conjures up images of witchcraft and other untoward spiritual practices.  Yet, in classic Christian theology mystic theology is associated with the exploration of God's ultimate mystery.  I find the following definition from the Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church rather helpful:

Language connected with ‘mystery’ was widely used in the early Church, often in a fairly routine way; the use of such language depends on the conviction that Christian doctrine and liturgy involve matters known only by revelation, which are incomprehensible to, or which need to be shielded from profanation by, outsiders and those insufficiently purified by faith and moral conversion. The sacred words of Scripture and the deeds of God recorded in Scripture and enacted in the Eucharist (Lord's Supper, Communion in modern Protestant contexts) contain a ‘mystic’ significance, into which believers can be progressively initiated by Christ through the working of the Holy Spirit. The mystery of God remains mysterious even in its revelation, so that we need to ‘hear the quietness’ of Jesus as well as receiving His word." (Ignatius)

For the sake of this post, I make the point about leaning toward mystic theology to indicate the direction from which I am approaching the reading I did this morning from Pope Benedict XVI's The God of Jesus Christ: Meditations on the Triune God (referred to from now on as GJC).  The way I take in and chew on Benedict's words is not the same as how others may choose, and that is perfectly acceptable.  I merely prepare you, reader whom I value, for the experience and limitations of my own interpretation.  

One of the most precious points in Benedict's treatment of Jesus, God the Son, is his examination of the childhood of Jesus.  Rather than examine the meager writings in the Gospels attesting to events in the childhood of Jesus, Benedict discusses what it means to be a child and how Jesus' treatment of children later in life is indicative of the value He places on children.  What stands out to me is Benedict's discussion of what Jesus inherited from His mother Mary, not only flesh and blood but also "the inheritance of his ancestors," meaning "he accepted in himself the whole winding path that leads back fro Mary to Abraham and ultimately back to Adam." By bearing "within himself the burden of this history, he transformed it by his own life and suffering." (GJC 50)  As a modern-day Protestant, I find it refreshing to hear how Jesus redeemed the past, as well as the present in which He lived and future generations.  We have a tendency to discuss salvation from a Jesus-onward mindset, but by taking the form of a child who was raised within a certain culture with certain rituals and traditions and ways of thinking developed over hundreds and thousands of years, Jesus shed light on that which was good and condemned that which was sinful in His culture of origin.  If He had come as a fully grown man, Jesus would not have experienced what it is to grow up and internalize the ethnic elements of Jewish society, so He could not have intimately known and therefore brought redemption to the history of God's people.  

Later in His life, after the beginning of His public ministry, Jesus brings visibility to the idea of being a child in his elevation/blessings of the poor.  Benedict makes the point that "this is no romantic exaltation of poverty...rather, what is concerned here is the very depth of what it is to be human. 'Being poor' lets us see something of what 'being a child' means: a child possesses nothing of his own." (GJC 52)  The intent here is not to admonish those who have possessions, but to drive home the point that to enter into the Kingdom of God, possessions must not control one's being.  Being a child, maintaining poverty of spirit, means continual dependence on a God Who holds the world in the palm of His hands.  The human tendency towards independence of God for the sake of wealth is not valued in God's economy.  

I feel like the topic of God's economy is often expounded in our churches, which then turn around and appeal for money from pulpit.  (Now, who is it that needs to let go of dependence on wealth?) With such an example set for us, how is it that we are supposed to be like children when even our churches are hurting for money and seem to be dependent on riches in order to do God's work?  Honestly, this is where my inner mystic rejoices at Benedict's words:

     "the astonishment in man must not wither away, this capacity for astonishment and for listening that does not merely inquire into the usefulness of things, but hears the harmony of the spheres and rejoices precisely at that which does not serve the practical purposes of man." (GJC 53)

Astonishment.  What astonishes you?  What strikes the very heart of your being?  What has no worldly value but feeds your very soul in an inexplicable but wondrous manner?  Whatever it is, that is the beginning of "being a child."  

A couple years ago when my niece was 3 years old or so, I was over at my mother-in-law's house while she was keeping my niece.  I think it must have been a Sunday because I was dressed up more than normal and my hair wasn't in a ponytail. But, even so, I had made no special efforts at putting on make-up or really dressing up, and at the time I was longing to put on some jeans and get dressed down again.  As my niece, my mother-in-law and I were hanging out in the kitchen, my niece turned and with a smile said, "Noni, doesn't Aunt Lisa look beautiful today?"  I don't know what it was about how I looked that day, but I knew, to me, I didn't look like anything special.  But, my wonderful child-like niece saw something wonderful and called it by name.  How I looked didn't have any usefulness to her nor did she really care that I didn't have any eyeliner on and my eyes probably had bags underneath them.  She was astonished and took great pleasure in sharing her astonishment with others.  

May child-like astonishment fill your day, and may it be a gateway into the mystery of God, so that through the mundane, the beautiful may be found.  Amen and Amen!

Late Night Adventures in the Land of Leprechauns, Unicorns, and Handicap Vans

When Justin and I started dating, Justin had this phrase he would use anytime the wheelchair made things awkward in "able-bodied" situations, "Handicapped people are like leprechauns, the tooth fairy or unicorns--people don't think we really exist."  And you know, it's amazing how true that phrase is in certain situations.  One of my favorites is when we're walking through a crowded hallway in a mall and people practically trip over Justin's chair because they weren't watching where they were going and then give him/us accusatory glances, as if to say, "How could you get in my way, person that I didn't think really existed or I wouldn't have run into your big metal chair!!??"

Well, last night we had one of those adventures that can only happen in the "fictional" world of the handicapped.  It started out like any other Tuesday evening in the life of the Hancocks.  After being at school a full day and working at church for several hours, it was finally 9:00 p.m. and time to go home.  Justin is attending a class on C.S. Lewis at a church close to campus, so he joined me at school for the afternoon and evening.  When his class let out, the first sign of trouble arose.  The wires connected to the automated door on our "pimped out" handicap van jumped the track, so to speak, and made it necessary to manually encourage the door to open so that the ramp could extend.  Now, though a sign of potential hazard, this was not overly worrisome because we have an appointment with the Handicap Van Mechanics (wonderful people!) on Friday, so we just need the door to continue opening and closing, somehow, until then.  So, we go on our merry way, with the only real complaint on our minds being the feeling of hunger developing in our stomachs since dinner was at least 3 hours ago.  With thoughts of popcorn and coffee filling our heads, we park at the apartment, I get out to further encourage the door to open, and I come face-to-face with a highly unfortunate circumstance--the wires have become so tangled the door will only open halfway, blocking the ramp from extending at all, and Justin is summarily stuck in the van.  One of the greatest travails found in the Land of Leprechauns, Unicorns, and Handicapped People--the failure of one piece of technology equals a major hurtle to the continuation of "normal life."  So, here we are at 9:30, sitting in the parking lot feet from our apartment with it's nice pantry, refrigerator and bed, and my husband is unable to get out of the van, at all!

Thankfully, having faced similar situations in the past, we had an ever-so-slight hope that the local handicap van shop has an emergency phone line for times such as these, and Praise Jesus! We were correct!  The downside--the handicap van shop is in Mesquite, Tx, 30 minutes from our apartment, and the mechanic on call who was willing to come out to us lives at least an hour from our apartment.  Wonderful people that they are, though, we finally arranged to meet the office administrator and her husband, who was going to cut out the nasty wires according to directions given to him over the phone by the head mechanic.  Granted, we had no idea how successful this venture would be or what state it would leave the van door/ramp mechanism in, but if it meant we could get Justin out of the car without asking him to attempt Rodney Dangerfield-like jumps out of the van with his wheelchair, we were willing to give it a shot.  Since it is not after 10 p.m., I filled the gas tank up, bought some peanut butter M&Ms for the road (because yes, we were still hungry!), and off to Mesquite we went.


Let me just say, you will never meet nicer people than the people of Advanced Mobility in Mesquite, Tx.  These are people who work day in and day out performing a very specialized service for a very distinct group of people.  They could charge whatever they want and treat us however they want because they are one of the only shops in East Texas that sells and provides maintenance for wheelchair accessible vans.  But, to their good credit, they treat us with dignity, respect, and kindness that is difficult to find in a world that doesn't often act like the disabled exist.  The two people who met us were concerned about Justin being trapped in the van and about whether I would be able to handle the van if I needed to pull out the ramp manually.  And you know, everything worked okay.  The only part we have to do manually with the wires cut out is help the door close.  Otherwise, everything works as well as it ever has.

I know that every person has moments of crisis and problems to deal with, but the unique nature of the kinds of problems that come with life in the disabled context are not only difficult to understand, but are also nearly impossible to foresee without firsthand experience and/or a large dose of empathy.  As I look back at last night, I have to laugh at the way God provided for us.  It may not seem like God was in the experience at all, seeing as Justin seemed to be hopelessly stuck in the for who knows how long.  But, to look deeper, He provided in extraordinary ways by enabling me to finish my homework earlier in the day so I had not pressing homework to do last night, by making the temporary fix so easy compared to past experiences with the breakdown of the ramp, and by providing Justin and I some unexpected time together in which we discussed all sorts of normal conversation topics, like Nietzsche's madman, Chesterton's Orthodoxy, and C.S. Lewis's Abolition of Man.  (Maybe not typical for some couples, but the best kinds of conversation by our standards.)  You know, life on this side of the divide is pretty much the same as in the "real world"; you laugh, you cry, and the leprechauns really don't live at the end of the rainbow, because they're too busy guarding the Tooth Fairy's rose garden from the unicorns, of course.

Seriously, though, at the end of the day when the wheelchair is turned off and everything is still, it is comforting to know that we can say with all the saints who have gone before and come after, with all their varying abilities and disabilities: God is good, all the time and all the time, God is good.

Rest in the Mystery

When I think of how I might describe the past weekend at the Hancock abode, the best word I can come up with is "interesting."  Along with the typical weekend activities, like grocery shopping, picking up vegetables from the co-op, and preparing food for the week, I also had the onerous task of writing my first paper for Intro to Theology, this one dealing with the mystery of God as explored in Tomas Halik's Patience with God. 

Writing anything down on paper about the mystery of God is a daunting task, at best.  Let's face it, the Bible doesn't describe God's impenetrable light for nothing. Halik even asserts that "God is mystery" should be the "beginning and the end" of every theology.  Logically, if a statement is sandwiched by mystery, then the middle can only attempt to unravel the threads of understanding that allow the acceptance of mystery, not the solution of the mystery.  If God is not a thing among things or a being among beings, as my theology professor likes to say, then God's mystery is not a thing to be solved but a state of existence to accept.  And even then, I, as a human, can accept the fact and the truth that God is mystery without ever hoping to fully fathoming the depths of His mystery. 

The beautiful yet frustrating thing about writing in the field of theology is that it took me 2 days this weekend to mentally filter all of Halik's material on God's mystery to even begin to develop the words to write the above paragraph.  Thankfully, after mentally chewing on all of these thoughts, I am happy to report that the rough draft of the paper was finished this morning, 3 days before it is due!  All that's left is hearing back from my proofreader and applying all the proper formatting, and paper #1 for Intro will be complete.  I always worry about the first paper of the semester in any class.  It always feels like a testing ground between the students and professor.  How does my writing compare to the professor's standards?  How does my writing compare to that of my fellow students?  Does that matter in the grading process of the professor? And so the questions pile up.  My only comfort is that the professor probably has similar trepidations in anticipation of the first batch of papers she has to grade, so at least we're all on one side or the other of the same boat. 

After having so much on my mind this weekend, as well as a full day of work on Sunday, it occurred to me last night that I didn't do a very good job of resting and taking care of myself in the process of the weekend.  Ok, if I'm honest, it was Justin who informed me I wasn't doing a good job taking care of myself.  So, as we head into the heart of the school and work week, may we remember that:

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
   will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
² I will say of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
   my God, in whom I trust.”

 ³ Surely he will save you
   from the fowler’s snare
   and from the deadly pestilence.
⁴ He will cover you with his feathers,
   and under his wings you will find refuge;
   his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
⁵ You will not fear the terror of night,
   nor the arrow that flies by day,
⁶ nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
   nor the plague that destroys at midday.
⁷ A thousand may fall at your side,
   ten thousand at your right hand,
   but it will not come near you.
⁸ You will only observe with your eyes
   and see the punishment of the wicked.

 ⁹ If you say, “The LORD is my refuge,”
   and you make the Most High your dwelling,
¹⁰ no harm will overtake you,
   no disaster will come near your tent.
¹¹ For he will command his angels concerning you
   to guard you in all your ways;
¹² they will lift you up in their hands,
   so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
¹³ You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
   you will trample the great lion and the serpent. 

Psalm 91:1-13

Jehovah-Jireh, Jehovah-Rapha, Jehovah...Gourmet Chef?

In the Old Testament, God's followers would create and/or refer to God using a compound name in response to the particular revelation of His character they experienced.  For instance, in Genesis 22, God asks Abraham to sacrifice his only son Isaac, but before Abraham can complete the sacrifice an angel of the Lord stops him and God provides a ram for Abraham to sacrifice in place of Isaac.  In the face of such provision, Abraham names the place "The Lord provides," referring to God with the compound name Jehovah-Jireh.  Another instance occurs in Exodus 15 when God promises not to bring the diseases He brought on the Egyptians on the Israelites if they obey His commands.  In this instance, God calls Himself Jehovah-Rapha, or the God who heals.  One can find many other names and descriptors of God in the Bible, but these two always stick out to me as distinctive reminders of the power, might and mercy of God exceedingly above anything this world could offer.

This morning, I had my own particular revelation of God.  Honestly, it wasn't a mind-blowing event like Abraham's encounter with the angel of the Lord, but it was a divinely mundane moment full of the taste of heaven.  I was sitting on my first bus of the morning (my commute involves 2 buses, a train ride, and a shuttle bus) eating my oatmeal, and I was suddenly struck by the delightfulness of what I was eating. Oatmeal is a new addition to my diet, but my wonderful cookbook had a recipe for a homemade oatmeal mix with dried cranberries, dried apples, a little bit of brown sugar, and cinnamon.  So, this week I decided to do the mature thing and give it a try.  Since Monday, I have found myself actually looking forward to eating my oatmeal, but this morning was a unique experience.  As I took refuge in the bus, a typically depressing place to be even on a good day, from the cold rain outside, I opened up the cup of oatmeal I had just warmed at home, sank my spoon into the creamy goodness, and experienced a new sensation as it hit my tongue--surprise, utterly delightful surprise!  The dried apples and cranberries had plumped up just right, the oatmeal had reached the ideal state of earthy creaminess and the cinnamon was like comfort food wrapped up in a smell.  In that moment, I felt a unique closeness to God. 

I recently had to read Genesis 1 for a class, and after creating man and woman (in the Genesis 1 creation account) God says, "I give you every seed-bearing plant on the face of the whole earth and every tree that has fruit with seed in it. They will be yours for food." (NIV Genesis 1:29)  As a descendant of Adam and Eve and a creature in God's wonderfully made creation, I believe that I experienced this morning a glimpse of the holy act it is to participate in the gift God gave Creation from the very beginning in the form of food.  I mean, have you ever thought about that God didn't have to give us food?  He could have created us to gain our energy and sustenance by standing in the sun 20 minutes every day.  But He didn't!  He created beautiful, wonderful food and the creative minds that take pleasure in finding delicious ways to prepare it.  And above all that, the necessity of stopping to prepare and eat food has built in time for us to socialize and feed our souls off of time spent with family and friends over a meal.

These days food has gotten a bad reputation in our society.  There are diets telling you what you should and should not eat, restaurants offering quick and filling (though often not healthy) food options for the person on the go, and television shows advocating all manner of eating habits.  But let us not forget, food is a part of God's divine creation, given to human to sustain life.  Instead of viewing the consumption of food as a God-ordained right of humanity, may I take this as a divinely-given responsibility, not only to feed my family well, but also to use the fruits of the earth responsibly, to the glory of God the Creator and Maker of good foods. 

Oh, Saturday!

What a week it has been!  The Spring 2012 semester is fully underway, complete with extra homework because one professor neglected to let us know we had readings for the first day of class until we were actually in class, creating double the reading for this weekend.  Needless to say, after practicing my Sunday service music early this morning, a good portion of the day was spent reading.  I'm so glad I like to read!  A bright note of the day, however, was the breakfast Justin and I had at La Madeleine's this morning.  I've decided my next culinary achievement needs to be learning to make Romanoff sauce.   My favorite breakfast item at La Madeleine's is their Crepes Romanoff with strawberries, and considering the crepes seem to be whole wheat and served with lots of strawberries, there are definitely worse things in the world one could eat for breakfast!  Plus, the French roast coffee is stiff enough you could stand a spoon up in it, which is just the way I like it. 

In other culinary news, our vegetable co-op bag we pick up every Saturday had fresh beets in it today!  I've been incredibly curious about fresh beets lately after hearing a good friend rave about them, but haven't been brave enough to give them a try, one because they're a bit expensive at the grocery story, and two because I'm not a fan of pickled beets AT ALL.  But, in the spirit of adventure, I wrapped those beets up in aluminum foil and roasted them for an hour.  After peeling, cubing, and salting the roasted beets I took my first bite of my newest food-affair.  It was sweet, savory, earthy, salty goodness.  It was like eating a jewel mined from the soil.  Needless to say, I'm thrilled at the fact there's enough to go in my lunch all week this week!

I have several thoughts of a theological nature swirling in my head at the moment but very little time or energy with which to expound on them.  So, in anticipation for Sunday worship, let me sign off for now with one of my favorite psalms:

I will lift up my eyes to the mountains;
From where shall my help come?

My help comes from the LORD,
Who made heaven and earth.  

He will not allow your foot to slip;
He who keeps you will not slumber.
 Behold, He who keeps Israel
Will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD is your keeper;
The LORD is your shade on your right hand.
The sun will not smite you by day,
Nor the moon by night.
The LORD will protect you from all evil;
He will keep your soul.
The LORD will guard your going out and your coming in
From this time forth and forever.
Psalm 121