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I don't know what it emotionally feels like to have a disability but I know what it feels like to be the father of a 3-yr-old daughter with a disability. It feels like a life of pain. Yes, there are brilliant, powerful and AMAZING moments but there is always this undercurrent of pain. Like a cello playing the same note throughout the entire symphony. Sometimes you tune out that lone cello all together, sometimes the cellist gets a solo - playing that single, constant, long note. Sometimes that one note detracts from the symphony but in rare moments it actually improves the music. I'm not being dramatic, I am not being overly emotional and I am not looking for pity - I am just being honest. Now some of this pain is real, some is just perceived and some is self-induced. But it is all pain.
EVERYWHERE we go we are stared at. Imagine what that might be like - to have your child STARED at everywhere you go. Let's face it, Annie is stared at because she is in a wheelchair (and astonishingly gorgeous but that detracts from the point I am trying to make). It is her disability that draws the gaze of strangers. EVERYWHERE we go, heads turn and remind me that my daughter is "special".
To be fair, no one heads to the mall expecting to turn the corner and see an ADORABLE little girl in a wheelchair. People are caught off guard. They are unprepared. Often you can tell that they cannot wrap their head around what they are seeing. 95% of the time, people say something nice such as, "She is a cutie". 5% of the time they say something painful such as, "Poor little thing". Imagine if 1 out of 20 strangers you passed said something unintentionally hurtful about your child - who has already been through more struggle in 3 years than many people go through in a lifetime.
Being the parent of a child with disabilities is like being in a world where everyone around you is Edward Scissor hands. Even those who love you the most are bound to cut you. It hurts. It is always unintentional. But it always hurts.
I can't speak for people with disabilities but being the parent of a child with a disability gives us a window into the character of God that is rarely seen. A forgiving God that is constantly wounded by our failings. that is why it is so important for us to develop the discipline of preemptive forgiveness. We simply cannot survive without it.
When we head out to run errands and encounter strangers, when we gather with friends, when we gather with family, I (try) to pray, "For what you are about to say and do to me and my daughter, I forgive you. I forgive you. I forgive you. For you know not the pain you are causing."
And this is just one of the INNUMERABLE lessons that the disabled community teaches us. We MUST be agents of forgiveness. Yes, it's hard. Yes, it hurts. Yes, there are times we must stand up against wrong and stand for what is right. But we must always forgive . . .
Nothing less than our very humanity depends upon it.
*The logo is from 3ELove where you should totally drop some coinage . . . And no, I am not being paid to say that . . .
4 comments:
This past week, Bennett and I were at the Children's hospital to have his finger looked at (he had fallen and torn out his stitches from the surgery). Bennett has a total thing for wheelchairs, even since he first saw his Gramps in one. He runs up to them wherever he is - airports, malls, wherever. Most people are delighted to see him, but still, sometimes I get embarrassed or worried that his fascination will be insulting or hurtful. I mean, he is a 1-yr old and he is simply in awe of these great machines.
At the children's hospital, there was a little girl in a TINY little wheelchair (I mean TINY) and she had Spina Bifida as well. Bennett squeeled and RAN to her wheelchair. She squealed and wheeled herself to him as fast as humanly possible. It was the most beautiful sight ever. Kids. The two of them played together for about twenty minutes. It was the happiest I'd seen him in weeks, and that little girl was happy too. I was so glad at that moment that Bennett was small enough to be so excited by something that so many others would pity. And I was glad that he was too small to talk or to say anything hurtful or ask questions that I didn't want to have to answer right then. I just loved the whole moment. I loved the childlike glee that overtook both of the kiddos as they played together, as tiny little humans, unaware of the differences between them or that they should be anything but thrilled to be together for those moments.
The whole time, I was thinking of you guys. I have learned a lot from you about what to say and not to say. So much of it, if you haven't experienced it, you just don't know what to do. So thank you for sharing from your journey. Thank you for graciously offering advice to those of us who cannot yet relate, but who will encounter little Annies everywhere we go.
This was a beautiful post. xoxo
What a great story! It is always such a blessing when another child can see past Annie's chair.
Rachel, thank YOU for sharing. It's a blessing!
I am so grateful for your comments. Your thoughtful, honest struggle touched me. Sometimes I think I have this forgiveness thing nailed...and then the floor falls out. You reminded me what radical forgiveness can do.
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