Years ago, on another anniversary of my accident, seeing Fort Bluff from my wheelchair.

On the evening of October 2, 1981, I was hanging with some of my peers from college. The town of Dayton, Tennessee was loosely spread out below us, at the foot of the Cumberland Mountains, the foothills of the Smokies.

Around 9 o’clock everything about my life changed in an instant and I’m grateful that I lived to tell you about it.

Because I wasn’t watching where I was going, not to mention the late hour, I tumbled over the edge of a cliff. Thankfully, it was a small bluff compared to others along the cliffline. I landed on my back about 20 feet below. Of all the places to land, I picked a big rock. Just like that, my back was broken and I became a paraplegic overnight.

It could’ve been worse, much worse. I could be dead. Nonetheless, there I was, well out of reach of my friends (who had no idea what happened to me), gasping for breath, unable to move.

This tragic series of events was set in motion three nights earlier when I cried out to God in my dorm room as my roommates slept. I begged God to make something of my life, whatever the cost:

Whatever it takes, Lord. Anything. Whatever. I’m sick of being me. I’m tired of going through life in this haze. Shake me. Break me. Even if I have to lose my legs in an accident.

Not even kidding.

The carpeted floor of my dorm room was my holy ground spot, my Gethsemane. I had kinda sorta been praying the same prayer for days, but for reasons known only to God, he heard my prayer that night. I suppose it was my last gasp of desperation.

The question then became: how am I going to handle this ‘new normal’ of permanent disability?

I discovered the power of Paul’s words,

When I am weak,

then I am strong.

This thorny situation quickly became a platform from which I could share my story to hundreds of thousands of people, over the course of decades, offering encouragement to those who are hurting and who might even be questioning God.

I’m not strong enough personally to do this thing called disability. Just like none of us can live the Christian life, but need the indwelling Christ to live it through us, the only way I’ve been able to face my affliction each and every day – for almost 40 years – is to trust that God knows best, is in control, and that he dearly loves me. And let him do the work.

God’s greatest gift to me has been my dependence upon him.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve come to know him and the power of his risen life, and I have fellowshipped with him intimately through suffering. Like Paul, I wish I could say that I have fully arrived, that October 1981 put the finishing touches on my life, but I’d only be kidding myself and lying to you.

One thing paralysis has done for me is help me realize how much I am in need of God’s grace. I pray daily that Christ would be fully formed in me and get the glory in it all.

Not long after my accident I was reading from the Psalms (the sweetest book to my soul throughout recovery) and came across these words which have become the ‘standing’ promise of my life:

The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord, and he delights in his way. THOUGH HE FALL, he shall not be utterly cast down; for the Lord upholds him with his hand.

Psalm 37:23-24

I do not pretend wheelchair life is easy. It can be hard labor, seven days a week, hour after hour, year after painful year. Not walking is the easiest part. It’s the other stuff that comes with disabilities that can break your heart again and again.

But that is not the story, dear reader.

The real story is the Lamb who was crucified is worthy of the reward of his suffering. This has been the work of the cross in my life and I do not regret it. It’s worth it. And I want more than anything for my life to be a praise to the One who is teaching me what walking with him really can be.

Selah,

Ps

Updated, Easter 2021