Those I Love

So many people mean so much to me - they have been there through all of the hard parts of my life - they have taught me life lessons. A very few are:

My cousin Geoffrey - gets us together for the family reunion. Teaches me that by aligning with him, we both win at Monopoly :) (bigger life lessons are there). Sits with my younger brother and me at my older brother's wedding as we look back, smile, and sing to a cheesy 80s song. Listens. Gets the ultrasound "announcement" that Lori is on the way and shouts his excitement in the elevator, then calls me with enthusiasm (not everyone was supportive).
And flip it - endures judgemental comments about "him," when those people
making the comments do not realize who he is. Is afraid to tell us,
his family, who he really is. Once he does, he realizes it's all ok.

My friends Dana and Jen - college friends/roommates. Dana always wants to hear stories about ME and never leaves enough time for stories about HER. Dana strives to understand MS, writes a poem about MS and dancing, thus flipping stereotypes. Dana--willing to do anything. Jen - always busy studying but we went to church together on Sundays during college (very few of us did that!). Jen listens. Dana and Jen are raising a little girl.
Flip it - Dana's parents hated to be at her wedding. Some of her
family is simply not supportive of her. Through her post-college life,
she has struggled to bring them back, but they refuse to accept Dana
for who she is.

These are a few of the people I love. They all experience discrimination. People with disabilities can bond with people like Geoffrey, Dana, and Jen because we seem to understand discrimination and lack of understanding of who we are.

And yet, we don't necessarily make headway. And I'm left at meetings thinking, you have GOT to be kidding me! Do you really think Jesus would reject all of us? I'm pretty sure he would reach out his arms in loving acceptance.

It's different

I always forget that when I get sick, I get hit harder than the average person, so I go along thinking I'm pretty tough and can fight anything. And then occastionally a truck plows into me, in a sense, even if it is only briefly.

This week a critical project which seemed on Wed like it was never going to get done, somehow wrapped up on Thur and I couldn't wait for the final wrap-ups on Fri and then somehow a celebration.

And then Thur night I woke up with the stomach flu my daughter had 2 days before me. I got to this chair which is right next to our bedroom and stayed there but eventually had to get up. And there the problem started. Viruses will always go after my legs too. So I was semi-stuck in the chair. Eventually I got up very briefly; then back to the chair. My husband carried me to a different chair where I stayed all day...

I left once to go to the bathroom but had to drag myself across the floor. Not pretty. I liked when someone called to ask if I had checked my work email. No, I can't walk. But then the topic shifted to people this person knew who had what I had. Not sure if "I can't walk" was even heard. Somehow I sense that only those closest to me really know this happens.

Whenever I get some silly virus, I contemplate whether I'll be able to walk again. And then the virus ends and my legs come back as they were. Amazingly enough, my legs came back full strength today. I still was dizzy and didn't want to move, but my legs were back. The emotions behind this are difficult to explain. But thanks be to God for the comeback. Perhaps all things are possible, in some kind of different way.

Walking the Beth

I shouldn't write how I really feel late at night, but oh well.

People want to help. That is a good thing. But sometimes, I have to be honest, it can be annoying.

There's someone who wants to help me and keeps trying (oh no, they're thinking like my "come back tomorrow post!"). But they have THEIR ideas of how I should be helped and what is best for me. They keep pushing these ideas. I have even said (in different words), "I think what I am doing makes you much more uncomfortable than me." "Yes," they admit. But then back to their agenda of "but, but, but, ... you should do...... , you do better with the wheelchair").

I have a walker. I also have a wheelchair. I also have the walls of my house, covered with fingerprints. I have trouble walking. I also have severe leg cramps. If I don't walk during the day, my legs will cramp all night and I won't get any sleep. So I walk and often call it "Walking the Beth." Besides that, as uncomfortable as it may make others feel, I like to walk. I love to stand and stretch my legs. It feels great! So I stand and walk.

I cling to hope that something will come along to make walking easier, faster, something. It seems that something is on the horizon--it's exciting. And if I had given up my choice to walk, that possibility would be more difficult.

So I walk. So others feel uncomfortable. So some voice that they think I should not walk. So I feel like telling them to shut up, if I'm being really honest. People push me on my walker when I'm tired. But I still get to stand more and it feels great. People don't seem to understand that.

So the prayer is, God, could you help some people who have agendas for me perhaps focus more on themselves, even though they are trying to help? What would help is if they would let me choose. My life, my choice, God's support.

have a little faith

I'm starting to read this book called "have a little faith" by Mitch Albom, even though it's the start of a new semester. Great book--at least to page 50 of 250!

Part of it is about a Rabbi, and Mitch preparing to give the Rabbi's eulogy (though the Rabbi seems fine). Mitch asks the Rabbi why he is not cynical and the Rabbi responds by telling a story of someone who kept trying at something, even when the person was spat in the face in doing so. The Rabbi said, "Mitch, that's what faith is. If they spit in your face, you say it must be raining. But you still come back tomorrow."

Faith, in so many ways. Come back tomorrow. A valued friendship may seem gone. But keep trying--keep coming back tomorrow, and maybe the next tomorrow, and the next tomorrow, and maybe many more tomorrows. It may come back. If I can't walk one day or feel like I've hit a wall, come back tomorrow. I may feel better. If many days my shoulder really hurts by the end of the day, come back tomorrow. It may feel a bit better. If work is completely overwhelming and I've felt about to break, come back tomorrow, as difficult as that can be. All these things may not be better tomorrow. But don't give up--hope--and come back tomorrow. Offer it all up to God. Come back tomorrow. If nothing else, eventually there may be a sense of peace. Or tomorrow, maybe something will happen that is completely unexpected. Today, the hope of yesterday's tomorrow came true for me in a small way.

Flying

This week I've thought a lot about Haiti and how to help, I can give money, and that's about it. Then I can sit and look at the horrific images courtesy of our media.

Today on the radio I heard someone from Frisco, CO talk about his experience. He was in Haiti as part of a faith-based organization and got stuck with 5 others from the group in a hotel for 55 hours. He is home now. Two of his friends didn't make it. He talked about how they prayed, that God didn't help 2 of his friends. But, he said, he looked at it from the standpoint that God had given him the gift of life. For that he is grateful. With that in mind I realized yes, it's horrific, but I have the gift of my life now to live.

And so tomorrow Lori, my daughter, and I head out past Frisco to Breckenridge, to ski. We'll start the drive and Lori will notice the cross on the side of the mountain and get very excited. Then we'll climb, climb, climb as the sun comes up. The sun will be up and we'll reach the top--the Eisenhower tunnel.

As we leave the tunnel will be the stunning view of the mountains. I'll turn on the CD to the song from Charlie about not realizing how far we've come, and again I'll look out to the snowy mountains, headed to the slopes, to the outside, where I love to be, and I'll be reminded how far I've come. As we head into Breckenridge, I'll turn on another song which reminds me of my friend Jean Ann and inspires me to drop some of the fear that prevents me from being a better skier. And I'll see those slopes that seem to shine.

After seeing friends at the ski office, off to the slopes. The world at home will disappear for awhile--the stresses that are there. And in a sense, I'll fly. And I'll be thankful for the gift of being able to do this.

Alone

Closing this tough week--need to write this to help move on...
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"When the mountain touches the valley, all the clouds are taught to fly,
as our souls will leave this land, most peacefully.
Though our minds be filled with questions..."

She died alone. She went to the bathroom, had a massive heart attack, and died. Alone.

I knew her, but not well. She attended a disability training I did. She answered a couple emails of mine. She was swamped, so the answers were brief, because she didn't have time.

There were tears this week at her unexpected death. And there were observations. She was only 57. She was large. She had nausea problems since June and hadn't seen a doctor. It went quickly because it was a massive heart attack.

She was alone.

That bothers me. What else bothers me can be viewed in many ways. She needed to take better care of herself. She needed to see a doctor. She was working too hard to do these things. Society asks a lot of us, particularly during this recession. We are told we are not a healthy nation. But we are pressured to work hard, harder, harder. This pressure means that we may not take care of ourselves, and we may not pressure others to take care of themselves.

She was alone. It seems she was alone in many ways. I hope she is truly at peace now.

"... in our hearts we'll understand... when the river meets the sea."

God help my heart to understand this.

Random words of kindness

It's been a tough week. A seemingly great friendship seems halted. I physically hurt (bad shoulder). I am on complete overload at work.

Tonight I came out of the building in my wheelchair through the moving circular exit. It seems to amaze people that I do this, but it's all in the timing, and that way I avoid the "evil" blue buttons that auto-open the other doors and are no fun. The circle, and timing, are fun.

A driver was sitting there, waiting for some group, and he remarked at my timing. Then he came over to my car to try to help. To be honest, I thought he smelled like a cigarette and was going to cause the wheelchair to be put in the car in some strange way that would make it impossible to get out.

But he surprised me. "Can I help?" he said. I explained no, then the chair ends up in the wrong place. But he stood there, with me fearing he would grab something and "ruin" my process. But he didn't. He put the main part in--that's the part that really hurts my shoulder, and then he shut the trunk for me (also painful--heck, lots of pain now!).

Then he said "and some people think they have it rough..." So I thought yup, the people of Haiti have it rough now!

Then his final words--"I can tell you're a really sweet lady." He meant that. I got in my car and, though I told him thank you, thought several more thank yous as I exited and headed home. And those soft tears that followed came from remembering, again, how there are random strangers who appear and save the day with a few kind words, and they don't know how much those words meant today.

Thanks be to God for random words of kindness from random people we can meet along the way.