5 Years and Counting

Sailing The Bay

Over five years. A long time in many ways but also short in other ways looking back. When one of our pastors preached on Matthew 25:35-40, something hit me. I’d heard sermons on this for years, but this time it was like eureka, perhaps because five years had recently rolled around since the accident. Before now, I never saw myself as the one Christ pointed to as being needy.

“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me      something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison, and you came to visit me.’ 

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’

“The King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’

Collectively, family, neighbors, friends, and colleagues fit the description of ‘seeing you hungry and feeding you, … thirsty and giving you something to drink, … needing clothes and clothing you, … sick and going to visit you?’ My Lord will reply to these precious people, ‘Truly, whatever you did for this sister of mine, you did for me.’

I know that it hasn’t been easy. Our children literally dropped everything to come and support my husband and me – adjusted job responsibilities, studying, and long-awaited vacation; taught me to believe in myself as an N of one; dropped to their knees and prayed for me from across the world; encouraged me; came or texted to visit; answered medical questions; found encouraging research; sent flowers; prayed; … You and our sisters realized I had few casual clothes that were appropriate for using a wheelchair and several magically materialized. It goes on and on.

A couple close friends met Alan at the airport, brought him to the trauma hospital, and provided crucial support. One neighbor drove my visiting sister to the local hospital and then again to the trauma hospital. One couple insisted on Alan using their car. Our family repositioned cars and ensured that we had safe transportation between hospitals, rehab, and home. You created, designed, repurposed, built, and/or reorganized to make our home and lives more accessible.

Some of you visited in the rehab hospital. Some visited at our home. Some helped clean. Some made a quilt or prayer shawl. A friend mobilized meals to be brought in; many made food but then also came and ate with us. You talked about normal life, which is what we desperately needed. You’ve encouraged. You’ve sent cards, emails, texts, and phone calls. Relatives and friends in multiple states and around the world voted for us in the Local Hero (NMEDA) accessible vehicle contest. You, and your friends who we don’t even know, voted for Van Gogh for us! You prayed for us both as we healed, transitioned, and worked to develop a life that is as normal as possible.

Some of you knew me before the accident and prayed hard for both of us. Some brought cheery flowers. There are others with whom we had sailed. We had built wonderful memories of our sailing years in The Bay. In those years, we ate together, drank together, sailed together, laughed together, explored together, endured storms together, celebrated holidays together, and just had fun. After the accident, you did not disappear from our lives.

There are many, who we hadn’t even met before the accident, who have accepted me for who I am, not how I move about. You helped me feel so normal that I often forget the wheelchair when we’re together. You’ve encouraged and accepted me as is.

Some reading this only know me through this blog. You readers are from 50 countries including all continents except Antarctica. That is humbling. I often wonder why you read this. Some might because you also have a Spinal Cord Injury (SCI). Some have loved ones or acquaintances with SCI and are looking for techniques, tips, break-through research, answers to questions, or coping strategies. Others are curious. It is those especially who are learning about living with SCI and how life has impacted us greatly. I trust you are more sensitive, particularly when it comes to parking, steps, curb cutouts, and a lack of entitlement. Some learned to watch for your blessings, and in doing so, remind us to watch for ours.

Life isn’t the same – never will be – and my family, especially, carries more responsibility than they should have to. I trust they and friends will never forget how I love them and appreciate what they do. More than that, Jesus notices and says that doing it for me is like doing it for HIM. Wow! What a gift. A blessing.

B ~ So There, Death: Freedom

(Continued) Do you ever have those moments from a song or talk or sermon that come back to prey on your mind? Moments that seem to be seared in your memory for what they meant to you? I had two this summer that seemed related. Here is B. A preceded this.

I am well aware of the miracles recorded that Jesus performed and also that there were a lot more miracles that were never recorded. Despite knowing them well, here, again, I learned in a startling way what I did not know. One day near Capernaum, on the banks of the Sea of Galilee in Israel, two blind men came to Jesus. It was the first time blind were given sight and there is no record of the disciples ever healing blindness. Ok, I knew that. I also know that lepers were considered unclean, lived apart from others, and were considered to be extremely contagious – untouchable. I learned now that the blind and also others with handicaps (ok, now you get why this caught my attention anew) were all considered unclean, a scourge on humanity, rejects of culture, and certainly not to be touched. Here, these two blind men – who were likely close to death since there were no hard-fought ADA (Americans with Disability Act) laws and they could not see to work, get about, or do much of anything living as rejects of society – declared that Jesus was the Son of David and asked that he heal them. Jesus could have simply announced that they could see, but rather, he chose to touch their eyes and pronounce them healed. He touched them! Through this simple interaction, they declared him the Messiah – Savior of all – and he declared them clean, fit to be touched, and included with society.

Side bar: Here is another eureka for me that I have yet to wrap my mind around.    Perhaps others have the answer I’m trying to come to grips with. In both the tabernacle and the temple, there were levels of access culminating in the Holy of Holies providing only the High Priest access. But, remember the outer levels? The unclean and handicapped could not enter. Pause. Ok, so for 63 years of my life I could have entered the temple. All of a sudden, at 64 I would no longer be allowed access? Maybe I’m too American but I do not understand that – in either Old or New Testament days. Note: the tabernacle and temple were not accessible. Period.

Jesus opened the eyes of the blind men but also gave them liberty, freedom, and inclusion. They were no longer marginalized but had full access to the temple, which was the only space for worship in those days. How accessible are our churches? How welcomed and included are those with a wide array of handicaps to our churches?

Usually in church, it’s the music that moves me to tears. This time, it was the sermon. Perhaps it wasn’t just for me but because of a summer in which we faced difficult loss. There was a lot of sadness including a miscarriage. We tried to support a brother-in-law, a cousin, and a dear friend with cancer. It was also a summer in which we watched a friend die a devastating death just a year after his wife lost her battle with cancer. This left their children and grandchildren without that anchor of support. I was fighting tears throughout the service and trying to get it together with bowed heard during the final prayer. A friend who typically sits in front of our reserved for families and those with handicaps back pews because she needs to leave early, touched me on my shoulder on her way out, leaned down, and whispered, This one’s for you, Collene.

Later this reminded me of finding out, literally by mistake, that the one and only accessible excursion on our cruise, based on their literature as well as assurances on two calls to the cruise line’s dedicated handicap phone number, was only available for those who could stand and climb steps. What? This was in the largest city and capital of the country. Ma’am, the excursion desk staff woman told me, there is not one accessible bus in xx(capital city)xx. Our emotions went from anger to frustration to disappointment and finally to, Wow, thankfully we’re only visiting and not living in this country.

Even greater, I’m thankful that I live in a world where Christ saves us regardless of abilities and gives us life abundantly.