Never Walked In High Heels

It was late at night when I finally began to think about suffering. The lights were going out and I was sitting in my favorite spot in the flat looking at the river Thames go by. On the staircase I thought “nobody likes to suffer.” Earlier that week there had been flashing lights and sirens on the bridge that crosses an area of our local quay. The road was blocked off for hours, and we had to go the long way around the neighborhood in order to visit our local supermarket and shopping centre. After it was finally cleared away, four bouquets of flowers had been tied to posts of the barricade which prevents people from falling into the river. An eleven year old boy had jumped in on a hot summers day and on the way down, hit his head against the wall causing him to lose consciousness. It took two hours for emergency crew to find his body.

A friend of mine, when he reported this to me, kept saying over and over “We told those kids not to play there; not to jump in.” I could see the frustration that comes with age and understanding dangers that children remain ignorant to or choose to ignore. I don’t think he would be as upset if a seventeen year old had done the same thing, but an eleven year old. My friend was visibly frustrated.

If you live long enough, you will be miserable. It doesn’t matter how much money you have or how protected your life is. It’s a fact of the human condition; you will suffer. And you will be tested in how much you are determined that life is worth living. The alternative is that you die young, as the case of our neighbor boy. In that case you inevitably make a bunch of other people miserable and such is the depressing side of the circle of life. We love; we grow attached to people, things, ideas, places, and they are inevitably taken away and we are given the choice to clutch on thereby suffocating ourselves and the people around or let go thereby accepting the pain, accepting change and forcing ourselves to never have any stability at all.

A book I was reading not too long ago explained that a sociologist interviewed the victims who’d survived the Jewish concentration camps of the second World War to ask what effect the experience had on their faith. The findings were shocking:

“During the 1970’s, a man named Reeve Robert Brenner surveyed 1000 survivors of the Holocaust, enquiring especially about their religious faith.

How had the experience of the Holocaust effected their beliefs about God? Somewhat astonishingly almost half claimed that the Holocaust had no effect on their beliefs about God. But the other half told a different story. Of the total number surveyed, 11 percent said they had rejected all belief in the existence of God as a direct result of their experience. After the war, they never regained faith. Analyzing their detailed responses, Brenner noted that their professed atheism seemed less a matter of theological belief and more of an emotional reaction, an expression of deep hurt and anger against God for abandoning them” (From: Where is God When it Hurts by Phillip Yancey)

Suffering in any form forces us to reevaluate our ideas about the bedrock of what we base our life on. The eleven percent of people who became atheists as a result of their experience, it means taking a good long hard look at one’s own religion, turning around, and walking away. For others it means undergoing that same examination of one’s beliefs and deciding if they are worth keeping, need to be re-edited, or need to be thrown out entirely. Assuming that there is a God out there, many of us, think that it must be pretty easy being in control of the entire universe. One can look at the Old Testament as well as the Torah and characters such as Moses and Abraham who believed in an absolute God with an enormous personality. As individuals who said to their creator, “Sure it’s easy being up there, why don’t you come down here for a bit and try it out huh?”

As humans, when we think about God, we are torn between two dichotomies. The first is we want Him to suffer. We want him to know how difficult life is if He is out there, and do everything He can to improve it. But the irony of it is, if there is a God. Do we have any room in our human ideology for a God that willingly sacrifices and goes through agony? We can’t stand the idea of a God who lives above us oblivious to the concept of human pain and suffering, and yet the idea that an all powerful being that would willingly submit himself to such agony and pain completely out of love is outside our concept of what God is. We have no classification for a God who feels pain by choice. Perhaps it’s a contradiction of terms, someone who is almighty and chooses the difficult way.

I think about the family of the little boy who jumped into the water two weeks ago, how much suffering they must be going through now. The truth is not only do I hate it; I get every bit as angry as my friend. A child didn’t live long enough to suffer, and ironically, that’s what angers us all. The fact is that his life was cut short on a whim. Now his family is left picking up the pieces, asking the questions which inevitably come from suffering and searching for answers.

In this way, the child is very much like our preconception of God. We want every child to live long enough to know what suffering is and to ask questions about life himself rather than asking them in the wake of a child’s death. But ironically, like everyone else, we know that it would be much simpler if neither God, nor the child, nor anyone else had to suffer in the first place.

There are a few things in this world that I hate more than church shopping. Truth be told I think I would rather be hung upside down on my toenails than work for a place of worship. Sitting in a wheelchair in the middle of church can often be one of the most excruciating things about being disabled, particularly since everyone wants to lay hands on me in an effort to heal my disability. As a rule, the more traditional the church and the older the church, the more this embarrassing behavior occurs until eventually I feel sorry for the want to be faith healers that their God is so small that he can only work amongst able bodied people.

So when I felt the need to find a church in London I made a deal with God. I prefer to be known as one of Gods more petulant children and I informed him that I would visit one church. God had one shot to impress me with a congregation of church folk to keep me committed to going back every Sunday. If he couldn’t, I wasn’t going back and I would give up going to church for another three years.

When I first lay eyes on the pastor of my now adopted congregation, I was leery to say the least. His button up cardigan, sandy brown hair, and confident smile immediately made me think of past members of congregations who tried to encourage me when I needed not encouragement, thereby providing discouragement or attempted to put God in their own image. I was not repulsed, so I promised that I would come back a second time. By the following Sunday, I did just that and was alarmed when I discovered, without requesting it from anyone, a ramp laid down to cover the single step it took to get into the church building. They saw that a member of their congregation would be helped by providing wheelchair access and unassumingly they immediately did just that. It was the first time a church had ever done such a thing for me.

A few Sundays later the pastor told a sermon which heavily featured his mother who had died a number of years before from motor neuron disease, otherwise known in America as ALS. In the sermon he talked about being a young man and fighting off faith healers with a broomstick to get them to leave his mother alone. For him, the disease was not necessarily something to be healed as it was something that could provide a better understanding to who God is and what life is all about.

To say that something good would come out of something tragic is at best a cliché. Whenever I’m feeling depressed and someone said that God will change my pain into something that would glorify him, I honestly want nothing more than to punch that individual in the face. Sufferers sometimes can’t hear about the great joys which can inevitably come from suffering, nor should that be forced upon them during a time of mourning. When one has just experienced tragedy, it tests first of all an individual’s patience. We feel that we will be sad forever; that life will never move on and we will be forever stuck in mourning. I am sure there were many hours of desperation my pastor felt while watching his mother slip away from him. Being faced with suffering of course, begs us to question things about God and life which we would be more comfortable ignoring.

To say that it was because of his suffering mother that I decided to join my church and become an active member of it would be a underestimate of the rest of the congregation. Truth is, I was attracted to the church not for the charisma of the pastor, but because during my times o visiting no one had attempted to heal me. This proved that the congregation understood that life shouldn’t be simple and rather the value of life is much deeper than our shallow limitations of what it ought to be or ought to look like.

There is something immensely comforting and wonderful about experiencing healing from a person who has once been wounded himself. It means not only do they have a genuine desire to see a condition improve, but that they have also been through the darkest night and know when it is appropriate to cheer you up and when it is more appropriate to just hold you while you are suffering because there is little else that can be done with any amount of sincerity.

“The other gods were strong; but Thou wast weak; They rode, but Thou didst stumble to a throne; But to our wounds only God’s wounds can speak, And not a god has wounds, but Thou alone.”

—Edward Shillito in the poem “Jesus of the Scars”

Having someone who has suffered as a confidant and friend as well as a leader means that he knows about the difficult questions which inevitably pop up when one is miserable. With the answers he provides I know that he isn’t simply faking a positive response that the problem will go away on it’s own. When he was a young man, his mother said to me when some able body woman he grew up with and declined into what that was completely dependant on anyone for anything. Having a spiritual leader who knows the way such a life is in the frustration that comes from it, who knows pain and suffering as well as death and joy which are brought out from situations that one would prefer to avoid mean that there is a level of genuineness in the help he offers to give. It also means that he fully knows that this world is not how any of us would like to live it. However, he will tell me whenever I am in the middle of such frustrations due to my own disability now that the pain I feel is just for the time being.

Recently it was my birthday and I started to think about what it was I wanted out of life during my tenth birthday. I don’t know why, but being a ten year old always seemed to be a special time for me, like it was the prime of childhood. All the books I read and movies I watched growing up, with characters I admired always seemed to be ten year old girls finding secret places that were especially their own. I looked back to a diary I kept during those days to see what exactly I wanted. See, I believe that each of us are built with desires and dreams imprinted on our hearts. These are the goals we are meant to reach for. These are the goals made for no one else but us. When we are young and unaware of the challenges set before us. This is when we are most aware of what it is we were meant to accomplish. As we get older, and things change, then racing for our dreams becomes less simple and we substitute what we were meant to do for what the world expects us to do.

A while back I lost a friend who informed under no uncertain terms that my aims in life were “unrealistic” and “It’s time for you to grow up anyway.” And it’s true, any dream you have as a young woman with a disability today is still highly unrealistic. There is no job field I can enter at this point with no typing skills and manual labor being next to impossible, where my lifetime career would be simple, straightforward, and predictable. Add to the fact that I work in the arts and the entertainment industry, which, according to him, is one of the most shallow industries in existence and you have a road map for someone trying to reach the moon without a rocket ship. He didn’t know it at the time I don’t think, but what my friend was asking me to do was to deny my dreams simply because the world wasn’t ready for them. Is unpreparedness ever a good reason to move on, particularly when it’s unpreparedness not on your behalf but on the behalf of the rest of the world? Would it be appropriate for an African-American fifty years ago to say that wanting to get a graduate school education at an institution like Vanderbilt was not a worthwhile dream simply because the school was located in an area that was still full of racial tension? Are we morally obligated to change our ambitions just because they might be difficult to reach or impossible given the current state of our society?

I can appreciate if someone has a child that is dependent on them or other obligations the strategy changes. Certain sacrifices must be made, particularly when it comes to earning a supporting those who are reliant on you.. But those of us who are able to get by and still repeatedly try to break down the walls we choose to leave standing might not necessarily have the sociological standard course of action. After all, if no one breaks down the walls that are obstacles in our own culture, they will never come down on their own accord. Rather, they will stay as imposing obstacles waiting for someone in the next generation to tear them down. And so, walls are made until someone is determined to make a ruckus and carry through with the demolition process fully.

Dreams are by nature just out of reach, and if they were easy to grasp and lasso down to the floor, would they be worthwhile dreams or just perpetuating the status quo. It is never acceptable to pass on your dreams simply because they are too difficult to accomplish. Difficulty is never a strong enough reason to quit anything.

There was a time when I was very very small, and I did not realize the limitations plastered on the wall. What I did realize was what my dreams were. At about the same age, I would go to sleep and not understand that the things I did after I went to bed and the images that came across my mind were not reality. The next morning I would ask my mom if she remembered flying over the moon with me or dancing with flowers on fairy dust patches. She would look at me and say “That didn’t happen, you dreamed it. It was a dream.” But it all felt so real to me, even after I woke up safely in my bed.

It’s the most vivid dreams, which no one else can see, that inevitably forces you to reach further than anyone without that dream would ever recommend.

Living with a disability is the equivalent of being trapped inside the riddle about a dog, a duck, and a bag of grain. Which all need to cross the river? You can’t leave the duck alone with the grain because the duck will eat the grain. You can’t leave the dog with the duck because the dog will eat the duck. Yet somehow you have to manage to take a rowboat and get all three across.

It was on a day when my life was turning out to be the epitome of this riddle when my mother exploded at me “You need to learn to avoid problems at all possible costs! Why can’t you keep things as simple as humanly possible?” The irony of it was I actually do my best to accomplish just that, but I am somehow extremely unsuccessful at it. When you are trying to navigate through a world which is built for people on two functioning legs and with two functioning hands, the idea of avoiding problems leads you little further than coming out your front door. If you want to avoid the challenges of the world, that is staying inside where it’s safe. If you want to live life to the fullest, you better be prepared for some sort of “choose your own adventure” story with lots of opportunities to see the “Game Over” screen.

I used to think that life was actually about avoiding problems at all possible costs, making the right decisions that would lead to the path of least resistance and easy sailing. But you can’t avoid problems. There is no fairy godmother that can swoop in and make everything OK. Living was only in the confines of a highly accessible house and being certain that all the problems in the world will not come to get you will lead to a highly boring life. It’s the old dilemma of Siddartha, the Buddhist prince who had everything he wanted and yet lacked fulfillment in the world. I’m not sure when my mother said I needed to avoid problems, she meant it to its fullest extent possible. Because avoiding problems means on some level that there are real solutions to every dilemma we face, which can be attained. Some issues are so complicated that they are, on a certain level, unsolvable. The best thing we can do is simply work our way through them.

Life only works when its constantly expanding in every direction. This doesn’t simply mean finding creative solutions to the problems that we encounter, or incorporating some sort of community spirit through living. t means that the problems, the sorrows, the bruises, these too are a part of life and worth working through and worth living for. Even this sorrow, which none of us want to encounter, must be faced fully in order for a life to even begin to have the depth possible and necessary to be rich and full of vibrancy. In return, these problems we encounter and sorrows we must mourn present us with a new challenge. We can either close our hearts and become callous, refusing to go anywhere that hasn’t been protected by some emotional health and safety policy. Or we can take it, all of us that is, for what it ,d recognize that to love it all and to live it all is to put yourself out there and be vulnerable, risking failure heartbreak and the entire boat tipping over losing the entire dock and the bag of grain. But in the end, we live in a world where trading vulnerability and safety inevitably stops not only problems, but living, dead in it’s tracks.

I was in a small group this week where we were studying historical intricacies of the Bible. In many Christian circles, one is never given the opportunity to ask about what facts there are available from the resources of archeology and history which can bolster our faith on the days when all reason points to doubt. Much of the modern church seems to take the idea that we have been ‘saved by faith’ as a reason for us to keep our eyes closed the rest of our lives.

Turns out, there’s a lot of evidence I never heard about in my Sunday School education. And I can think of no reason why this would be so. Much of this evidence would help me to understand theological debates better, rather than shaking my beliefs. Why then have I never heard of these sources which can act as corroborating evidence, or translations which would help me to understand nuances in the Bible that people point to as contradictions. Why was I never even taught how the Bible was put together in the first place?

When I went away to uni, a theologian who was also a member of our congregation got wind that I was planning to take a philosophy class my first semester at school. The man begged my father to dissuade me from doing so, citing the plethora of young people who had lost what they believed in university classes. Thankfully, my father refused to take his advice. Why would any theologian, who knows what he believes to be truth, be afraid that his beliefs would not stand up to questioning?

The irony of the entire situation is, of course, that if students are never challenged in their faith, it will never grow strong enough to stand up to a debate or even an honest question. As is the case in any field, if something doesn’t stand up to questioning, what exactly is the point of fooling yourself into believing it? Challenging one’s own beliefs is like taking a hammer to the hull of a boat: you may learn where the boat is going to spring a leak… but you might learn that the entire boat was a lot stronger than you had originally thought. Either way, the boat needs to be checked over well before you send it out to sea.

So why don’t we bother looking at the common challenges raised by any of our beliefs rather than examining them fearlessly? This is one of the many places where organized religion as a whole fails miserably. Dostoyevsky argues in his The Grand Inquisitor that it is because most people are afraid of responsibility and freedom that they would rather run to a mind controlling church. To a point I think he’s correct, but there’s something more insidious than feeble going on as well. If our believes don’t have to stand up to the challenges placed before us, then everything is under control and whatever we base our world around is completely tame. The leap of faith becomes a bunny hop, and we understand the universe completely.

What we miss in that flat world which we think we understand, is the breathtaking intricacies in which faith is rooted.

When I decided to trek through the mud in order to throw my acorn branch into the fire, I was also agreeing to make both my wheelchair and my ankle length coat saturated with grey mud. So through the three inch deep muck I went, all in the name of increasing my cultural awareness. The tradition goes that if you throw the branch of an oak tree into a bonfire on Twelfth Night, you will be blessed all year. It was more than superstition. The elders would approach the flames tenuously, trying to keep their footing, throw their branches in and cross themselves while muttering a prayer.

This is when I have to admit that I wasn’t going through this just for my own cultural edification. It’s a good cover, but deep down there was a part of me that was hoping that good luck would come as a result.

What is it in us that still believes that if we do X, avoid Y, and call upon Z good things will be bestowed upon us? Are we waiting for someone else to make our life brighter by not acknowledging that we ourselves only have the power to propel us towards our dreams? Or perhaps we know that some things are out of our control and these are the attempts to nudge things in the directions we think they ought to go. And although most of us know deep down that these attempts are feeble, we do them anyway… even in the rain and mud.

I forget its source, but somewhere I heard that psychics get asked questions which mainly fall into three categories: love, money, and health. When I was younger I somehow thought that these concerns were silly. I don’t know why I couldn’t wrap my head around the notion that everyone would be concerned about these three issues, but now that I’m older I can see them popping into my worries. And after a few frustrating but predicted years, I found myself taking somewhat extreme measures to ensure that this year would go, if anything, more smoothly.

Deep down, I think we are all willing to take extreme measures to ensure things go our way. Some of the most horrific events in history can be attributed to this. If luck and blessings won’t serve us, then we will do it ourselves and all of a sudden a muddy coat looks like child’s play in front of what we are willing to destroy or deny so we can have what we want.

Its been just over a month since Twelfth Night, and I’m just flaking the last bit of mud off my coat. I remember throwing my branch in and being almost surprised at what I found myself wishing for and the long lasting dreams I suddenly forgot. Perhaps I am fooled as to what the desires of my heart actually are.

Several people have enquired about my mud caked coat over the past month. They all get excited when I tell them about a bonfire next to a mystical church that’s in the middle of nowhere. The mud and rain adds to the story’s appeal. And I realize that after barely a month, it’s already been a great year.

Everybody knows about the American church in the UK. The second I mention a concept like the separation between church and state, my entire class rolls their eyes. They don’t believe there is such a thing. The irony is of course that the Founding Fathers left the Old World in hopes that there could be a place in the new world where government and religion never mixed. Clearly, that place is not America.

The American Church prefers to throw up its hands and say we’re not responsible for where modern government takes us. How could we ever hope to accomplish our goals with this sort of distrust? The truth is, I think that the American Church, despite its own opinion(s) of itself will prove to be under as much judgment as any other institution, should we ever be fortunate enough to meet the face of God someday. The following is a list of three simple shortcomings, or to use more dramatic language “sins” that the American church will have to answer for someday.

Number 1: A lack of access- The story about Jesus healing the paralytic after he was lowered down through a hole in the roof has particular significance to any church. Despite commercials saying that in churches, sitting congregations have their door “open to all,” a shocking number of churches have no physical access for those of us with disabilities. Many of them hide behind the idea that their building has “historical significance” and therefore is so old that they cannot be made accessible; this of course, given my physical disability, angers me to no end. It’s not even that the building itself is inaccessible, which does irritate me, but the fact that God’s house is suddenly not open to all. Many buildings all over the world are inaccessible to those of us with physical limitations. But if the church is reflective of God’s love and is supposed to be a model of morality, how can they ever justify their existence when they refuse to build a simple ramp to get into their sanctuary?

Number 2: Lack of Compassion- There is a genuine sentiment that suggests that all sinners who have not come to God are somehow inhuman and thus unworthy of value. The way that the American Church has handled the issue of homosexuality is appalling. Forgetting that Christ died for us while we were yet sinners, they then expect non-believers to uphold the morality, which we are only given when we willingly accept and follow Christ. To expect anyone to act like a Christian before he knows the face of God is like expecting a slave to behave as a free man while his ankles are still in shackles. There is an unreasonable expectation that people—all sinners—should be able to clean themselves up for the sake of not being repulsive when they first set foot in church. Thus, whenever people of certain lifestyles first try to come to God, God’s own people shun them.

Number 3: A Lack of Initiative- Here is the church’s biggest fault. Routinely we expect the government to behave like the Church and solve issues that should be of heart and mind with the law. The aforementioned debate on homosexuality is a prime example as are other issues such as the legality of marriage and abortion. The American Church has somehow fooled itself into believing that it is Washington’s role to make laws according to what is moral or immoral, rather than the church attempting to impact lives on a personal level. The influence of day-to-day morality through a higher government surely will never sit well with God. As Christ said, “Pay to Caesar what is Caesar’s” So too did he understand the difference between church and state. The two would never be a substitute for each other. Why then have we fooled ourselves into thinking otherwise?

I don’t know where this idea of the Founding Fathers ever being “Christian” came from, but their Christianity was certainly not of the same ilk as ours is today. If you look at the Constitution it is not a moral document, it is not the Ten Commandments, and it leaves individuals the freedom to behave (both socially and privately) as they wish. The American Church seems to have forgotten that we are a nation made from people who believed that there is a God, a God who gives us the freedom to behave as we wish, in conjunction with those Constitutional liberties. In assuming that America is a Christian nation, the Church has given up its own powers to understand morality, and act compassionately towards others with the hope that the government will take care of it all for them, and in this way the church has aimed for government dependency as much as the America population has.

“We are a Christian nation. We were formed as a Christian nation, and a Christian nation is what we shall claim to be. People forget that.” She was getting more frustrated in her debate. The quilt on the wall and the dried flowers were the quintessential marks of a country home. She lived in typical Middle America. Good, God-fearing, hardworking stock, who believed that all the founding fathers were men of God.

I didn’t say anything at first, but I thought back to my 11^th grade US History class and seemed to remember an early lecture brought on by an older teacher—no they weren’t all Christians I thought to myself. At least not in the way we think of when we say they were. Weren’t they deists? The longer I thought about it the more I agreed with my assumption. I finally went home to look it up on Wikipedia when my mother asked me to check my facts after breaking into the argument and making such a claim. I was right, most of them were indeed deists. I’m always envious of deists simply because I’m not one. In fact I’m the dead opposite. Reason and rationale is tempting to me though, as are many of the deist doctrines, but there are so many things I cannot agree on. Deism is best described as this: God is like a clockmaker, he put all the parts in place and let it unwind itself. It’s a kind of hands-off deity where God created the world and then sat back to watch—like he created the world for his entertainment—a substitute TV show. With this in mind, God doesn’t rule over every aspect of our lives. The ultimate anti-predestination argument, man makes his own destiny and every choice he makes is one that he is directly responsible for. Born out of the Enlightenment, this view of God is highly allowing of individualism, reason, and rationality.

Now bring that philosophy to the men who wrote our Constitution. It gives you a whole new perspective on that document doesn’t it? If you read it, all of it, you can see that that single piece of paper was meticulously written, word-by-word to allow a great amount of flexibility in interpretation. It was almost like the Founding Fathers felt the government should mimic their view of God—hands-off, let the country and people unwind how they will. There goal was to protect people’s rights and afford everyone civility.

We were not founded in the modern Christian ideals. America was truly a great experiment and nobody knew how it would turn out. In writing the Constitution, maybe nobody wanted to be responsible for the mistakes of the future. Write the document and see where the country goes. Sounds like a pretty radical idea even if it was based on the Enlightenment and reason. To afford people the greatest freedom and to make them responsible for everything they do, doesn’t agree with much of the modern interpretations of Christianity. It’s radical really, almost humanistic, and forces us to be the drivers of our own fate. The truth is, I’m unsure if any of the Founding Fathers knew what to envision when they drafted that document. Who in recent history had ever successfully tried to make a country? Any man would be panicked in such a situation, and I can’t help but wonder, did they even think America would last this long?

Current events are making people say America is going down hill or America is finally coming into it’s own—depending on who you ask. Looking at the Constitution, I can say that considering what the Founding Fathers envisioned, America has great flexibility to create whatever type nation it wants.

I should have recognized it was a sign when the sermon that morning was on paradigm shifts. The idea of God throwing our world into chaos in order to bring us closer to his visions, echoed in our ears as we decided to go spend the rest of the Sunday in Lake Norman. It wasn’t my first Sunday with the Hillis Family including all ten of their children and incredibly energetic parents. Due to the loss of a biological son a few years ago, the Hillis’ opened up their home to adopt, two children from Russia, and then another one came, and then two more, and then three more, all having their own personalities and problems as well as past histories that could confuse even the most dedicated case workers. What makes them special is that every single member of the family is ready to gather what life throws at them and make the drama the best it can possibly be. They have become a family in the most mature sense of the word.

That Sunday one of us said, “I thought this morning how much I wanted to see a miracle,” and as it turned out one of us would be baptized by the mother, Susan. We spent the day on JetSkis and playing in the water, and enjoying each other as we said goodbye to summer.

Then that night we received the phone call. The parents had returned home with half of the children so that they could go back to school, and I was on my way back to Las Vegas when Christie got the call at 4am, she instantly thought something was wrong. The Hillis’ house in Georgia was being flooded by rain as her mother spoke into the phone. Flood water kept rising and it had hit the first floor of the Hillis’ house and was steadily seeping into the second. The boys of the family all lived downstairs and were the first to wake up when the pressure from the water had built up so that all the windows and doors burst open and water came rushing in. When I got off the phone with Christie telling me the news, all I could think was how could this happen to such good people.

I used to think the life of faith was supposed to be easy. You just held onto the belief that no matter what, all things work together for good. For many, this is the definition of faith. I buy into this, say my prayers at night, and somehow there will be a happy ending. But even if you adopt 8, or 10, or 20 Russian children, it doesn’t mean that you’re covered for any of the disasters that can sideswipe you. “It’s all just stuff,” Christie said. And of course, she was right. It is all. Just. stuff. The difference is when it’s your stuff and it’s what you’ve been dependent on. The Hillis’ have never had a lavish lifestyle, what they have they need is what they have, little more. All of a sudden that “stuff” can seem vital when it is taken away. Then the faithful seem to be permanently living in the Land of the Fucked, where nothing goes the way it should to and you have to be ready for what the rain water brings. However, living in the Land of the Fucked also allows us to call things exactly what they are , so that stuff can be let go of because we need all the power and the ability to cling to the truth rather when we live in a world that teaches us to clutch “stuff” under the guise of calling it security.

In one weekend we saw the many things that water can bring, from healing and recovery, to devastation. When I was little, I found myself clutching to safety at the edge of any pool I went into—even when I had a life jacket wrapped around me. I started to say when I went swimming, but the truth is when you’re clutching at the wall you’re not swimming at all. It’s more of a holding on and not noticing anything else. And in this way we miss what the water brings to us until one day, even after we’ve tried so hard to beat it, the water changes our lives, and we have to—if we haven’t already—learn to swim.

To learn more about the Hillis Family, please visit: http://www.rebuildthehillishouse.webs.com/

No man is ever made to live his life as he would wear a hand-me-down pair of shoes. It is not the role of anybody else to break in the seams and canvass of the pair of cross trainers, and then hand them back to you explaining what they are and are not capable of. That is your task, nobody else is permitted to unless you allow it.

What Sue realized and other therapists did not, is that even though I would never be a roller derby queen, there were things to be learned which roller-skating exemplified. Things like flexing one’s hips, finding core strength, regaining a center of gravity, and even the coordination it takes to bring one foot consistently in front of the other, all are skills which a pair of skates can challenge you to master more than being on your own two feet. Like football players taking ballet lessons to improve their game, Sue never expected me to become a great skater. And if I had become one, that point would be moot. What she was interested in is that I learned how to walk to the best of my ability. And if it took a pair of roller skates to learn that, then who was anyone to say that roller skating did not lend itself to a reasonable therapy goal?

Eventually I lost interest in the roller skates. I think I brought in a bike instead. And when I got my permit, Sue and a few other therapists took me out to learn to drive. Which is pretty impressive given that I came to the therapy centre with the expectation of never accomplishing the skills of speech and being able to sit up independently. It is the people who refuse to stop because hope may bring disappointment, refuse to believe that any dream is unreasonable, and strive for something which is deemed useless, who have the richest lives and greatest victories. The people who live life safely, refusing to reach beyond what is in easy grasp, have no claim on the lives of those that do.

After I was halfway through college, I went back to the therapy centre for a visit. Walking down the hall, I saw a small boy grasping desperately at the wall for balance. He was trying to move forward despite being attached to a set of roller skates. At a closer look, I saw they were the adjustable kind which attached to shoes. They bore the initials of the therapy clinic. Some therapist obviously thought they would be a good investment for teaching disabled children. The boy’s own therapist was encouraging him to move away from the wall. In answer to his protests and fears of falling she said “yeah, so what? Not like you haven’t fallen before.” I couldn’t help but smile.

Those who refuse to fall cannot learn to walk. They will look at a pair of brand new roller skates and never try them on. And eventually, they will do everything possible not to let a loved one fly.

The preceding is a narrative essay from Athena’s book The Perfect Sole due out this winter.