Tag: Disability

Held. Helped. Healed.

A decade ago (or thereabouts) some brothers met me at the altar of the church I once pastored and prayed for a healing in my life. A saint who pastored me was present on that Sunday morning and suddenly had a ‘word’ he felt compelled to share:

Scott, when your healing comes it won’t be based on your faith but through the faith of others.”

Fast-forward to last month, roughly a decade later.

I was in the throes of one of my most mystifying physical trials in a long history of afflictions, mostly known and often avoidable, the first clues of which manifested the week of Christmas. Starting with sudden – I’ll take care not to overshare here – gastric discomfort then sharp, stabbing pains down my left side, I reckoned I might be joining the ranks of gluten and/or dairy allergy unfortunates and thusly changed my diet posthaste.

Alas, there was near-immediate relief. For a week.

It’s return came with medieval unkindness; there was non-stop nausea, intestinal, ah, belligerence and that infernal left-side pain. After a date night with my beloved I went straight home and to bed. For the next two months I was homebound, bed-ridden and pathetically infirm. Only Sandy and I will ever know the hopeless existence that commenced and emanated from that bedroom. I couldn’t lift a cup to my lips the pain was so great. I could barely tolerate food. Dry-heaving became my frienemy throughout the ordeal. Turn me to change the bed’s draw sheets? Forget it. I couldn’t. Just…couldn’t.

Sandy had to wait on me, hand and foot, week after arduous week, for which she NEVER, EVER complained. 

 Let’s hear it for the Sange:

  

 Yepsiree…no doubt… 

 Here’s what you might be thinking (unless you’re still distracted by Ryan Gosling in a tux, ladies):

Boy, Scott, I’ll bet your bedroom was a holy of holies and your bed the mercy seat whereupon you lay suspended between the cherubim, earth and glory. Certainly you floated above us all in rarefied air.

It’d sure be cool to spin my story that way, let me tell you, but most days I felt like I was this guy:

 

 

 Day turned into night, night labored till dawn, day after day, the same drab and hopeless scene stretched before me, leaving my soul rasping and gasping and bereft. If I lay utterly still the hours were tolerable but woe was me if I had to shift in bed even a few inches. The doctors were befuddled. There were CT scans, ultrasounds, upper endoscopies, colonoscopies, blood and stool tests. Each revealed nothing except mounting bills. Hope hardened and Heaven seemed light years removed. Worship eluded me. I wasn’t mad at God – far, far from it! I don’t believe I even once doubted His goodness. What I did doubt was healing, so began processing what life might look like as a bedridden saint. Frankly, I’d rather I just died.

So, no, no holy place and no ascending incense. I did sense some winged creatures hovering most days, but more in line with:

 

 

 So, yeah, you get the idea. 

 
However… 

 Ministering priests began to tromp around on the temple grounds one day in very late February. When Hope seemed bleakest, my priests began stoking the fires, laying the coals of infused incense, offering the breads on the altar, running the oil to the lamp stand, and presented their prayers befor the Lord. Yes, many intercessions had been offered up for me but in one concentrated 24-hr period it was exponential. Texts, voice mails, notes, tweets, direct messages – whatever mediums were available – were laid as my mercy seat upon which the Christ of Comfort took His seat for me, and from which His healing power flowed to my bed of affliction. 

 There’s a miracle story that Dr. Luke weaves into his gospel tapestry that fits well here.

Seems there was a paralyzed man who needed Jesus’ redemptive touch. He obviously had friends who cared about him for we find their faith in its creative zenith as they Mapquested™ Simon Peter’s address and four-man lifted and carried their disabled friend to his front door in the village of Capernaum. They’d heard Jesus was holding court and believed their friend had a shot if they could only get him near to the Healing Man. 

 Big obstacle. The house was crowded. Even the overflow rooms were packed. What to do, what to do? 

They eyed an outer staircase that led to the roof.

Why not, they thought.

Removing tiles, whether thatch or true tiles, they created an opening just wide enough to lower their buddy to a sliver of space at the feet of the Son of Man. I’m sure Jesus stopped in mid-sermon when He heard the overhead commotion and looked up. I’ll bet a smile widened on His face as the Father revealed His plan to Him in that moment. 

 “You will heal this man, spirit, soul and body, My Son,” He heard. 

 
Yay! And it’s the Sabbath, and there’s an entourage of Pharisees sitting here! Even better! 

 
(I’m sure Jesus was truly jazzed, because, well, Pharisees…) 

 Luke is careful to report that Jesus was moved by the faith of this pathetic man’s friends. Just so, I only had a spittle cup’s worth of hope for my own healing, but God blessed me with an army of ministering priests who showed up together and carried me to the mercy-seat of Jesus, believing as one that there was Gospel Hope for me. 

 Within 24 hours of this prayer barrage, I had no more debilitating pain. 

 I could turn myself. 

 I could bathe myself. 

 I could dress myself. 

 No doctors, no medicine, no therapy. 

This miracle is solely attributable to Jehovah-Rapha, my Healer.

A friend recently asked me about that decade-ago exchange, about my healing coming based on the faith of others not my own. She asked if I thought this was that. I don’t know, quite honestly. If it isn’t, it’s enough. More than! Whatever God decides, I’m at peace with it. But somehow I believe an even greater healing is coming. Henceforth, I’m waiting for some friends to call me someday and say:

Scott, how do you feel about rooftops?”

 

God Is Not Handicapped

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Once upon a time Jesus healed a guy with a withered arm. I think I remember studying about that boy and getting the idea it was some kind of farming mishap that rendered his arm useless. The word used in that account means shriveled or twisted up bad.

If you go further back in the Bible you encounter a time when God Himself poses the question, “Does My arm look withered to you?” It was the prophet Isaiah who spoke for God in that instance, I believe. Correct me if I’m wrong; I won’t even google it.

Which brings me to the third (of four) attributions in this “God Is Not…” series of posts. If you’re new to me and are jumping in midstream, I’m taking a few breaths as I prepare to offer a vision statement for this new year. It’s not that I’m doing a drum roll before the ta-da! It’s nothing so dramatic, I assure you. In fact (I’ll go ahead and let you in on it), the ‘word’ I’ve got marinating in my spirit won’t catch you off-guard, yea, it might even be borderline anticlimactic. You might even demand your money back. Wait…

These posts are not a build-up to a crescendo but more of the framing around the message itself. Flying buttresses, if you will. If I’m truly seeing something that presents a new set of challenges for the church in the coming year, then, well, we’re going to need to know some things about God in the midst of the fallout.

  1. GOD IS NOT NERVOUS
  2. GOD IS NOT SILENT

  3. GOD IS NOT HANDICAPPED

Well, now I understand something about this. It’s right in my wheelhouse. In nearly nine years of blogging and thirty-three years of speaking out of my life of disability I’ve shared and shared ad nauseum on what my life’s been like as a paralyzed man. There’s not a lot more I can say, but, then again, there’s always a testimony waiting to happen. So…let me testify.

Disability has its privileges. Primo parking spaces, roomier hotel accommodations, cool equipment, wheelchairs that go vroom, and the enviable privilege of being ushered to the front of the line at Disney World. Persons with disability are also fairly patient people; indeed, we have to be. I can also testify that a handicap can strengthen a marriage as you tend to overemphasize communication to compensate for lack in other departments. Have I told you how much I love being married to Sandy?

Moving on.

There are also some drawbacks to this life. My particular infirmity can be a b-word an awful lot of the time. I’ll just invite you to read more about my situation here and here and let that suffice.

There’s another strike against persons with disability, an issue I’m loathe to mention but must. By and large we are pretty self-absorbed people. We are often known to make it about us.

I’m going to segue here by making a bold assessment. The church is entirely too self-absorbed. There’s a lot of good – yes – and I love being a part of her. She’s doing enviable work, has many strengths, and is making strong inroads with regard to gospel penetration.

"But I have somewhat against thee," Jesus says.

She’s self-absorbed because she’s handicapped. She needs to make it about her because she’s weak and needy and not fully living out of the joy and strength of her Lord. Mind you, I’m not bashing. I love her. I’m part of her. I’m also weak and needy and self-absorbed, and I think our only hope to overcome is severe testing and refining.

Isaiah was God’s man to a people paralyzed by current events. The Jews living in the 8th century B.C. seemed surprised when they were being raided and carted off by Assyria. God, where are You? Why aren’t You doing something? Have You forgotten about us? They couldn’t believe what hit them – and when it did, they set to blaming God. It was His fault. He let it happen.

Let me tell you about Assyria. It’s capital was Ninevah – yeah, that Ninevah. Never had a world power devised such forms of brutality and torture as the Assyrians. They loved putting out eyes, severing body parts and skinning their prisoners alive. Conquests were staked to the ground and died of starvation and dehydration while exposed to the Middle Eastern sun. Women and children were not immune. Suddenly, Israel finds itself being handed over to these savages and they cried bitterly against their God.

Let me pick up this part of the story straight out of Isaiah’s record:

Isaiah 40:26-28 (NLT)
Look up into the heavens.
Who created all the stars?
He brings them out like an army, one after another,
calling each by its name.
Because of his great power and incomparable strength,
not a single one is missing.
O Jacob, how can you say the Lord does not see your troubles?
O Israel, how can you say God ignores your rights?
Have you never heard?
Have you never understood?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of all the earth.
He never grows weak or weary.
No one can measure the depths of his understanding.

Did you see that? My predicament. My rights. Me, my, mine. When the focus is leveled at myself and my surroundings I begin to lose hope and look for someone to blame for my situation. Guess who gets the brunt?

God, don’t You love me?

Am I nothing to You?

Don’t You care?

On the heels of this despairing conversation is a promise: YOU WILL MOUNT UP ON EAGLE’S WINGS. But – wait – the promise is for those who “wait” on God. The word in the original gives the picture of twine being twisted into a sturdy rope; the more strings you add the greater the rope’s unbreakable strength. He’s showing us if we wrap our hearts – our hope, our faith – with His purposes, we will soar while the rest are earth-bound. We will have His limitless energy to overcome!

Is He handicapped by the enemy? Are His purposes thwarted?

Is His arm withered?

Behold, the Lord God comes with might,
AND HIS ARM RULES FOR HIM!
Isaiah 40:10

He’s not handicapped, we are. We need healing. But, praise God, He’s coming with wings, with legs and with zeal to overcome against our Assyria. Isaiah 40:31 isn’t ‘sweet bye and bye’ stuff. It’s for today, tomorrow and whatever’s coming.

Amen.

Next Up: “God Is Not…Finished”

• • • •

Photo Cred: Michelangelo’s anatomical study of the human arm.

Heaven Is For Real For The Broken

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In my years of ministry I’ve met and rubbed shoulders with some of our generation’s strongest influencers in evangelicalism.

I’ve shared a meaningful conversation with Joe Stowell, Moody’s president from 1987-2005, in a bathroom, just the two of us. I’ve bumped into Chuck Colson in a deserted foyer during a conference, away from the crowds. And I’ve also shared an empty hallway with D. James Kennedy.

Each of these encounters were unplanned, quick conversations, but intimate in their respective settings, and such brief episodes I’ll always hold dear.

For a season, a number of years ago, I had repeated ministry with Joni Tada, a personal hero and one whom I could call ‘friend’ in all the best ways. I led some of her family conferences for families with members having various disabilities, took phone calls from her, was a guest on her radio show, sang with her numerous times onstage and once even had the blessed privilege of feeding her lunch.

Over the course of years, my path led me to other ministry callings and, thus, out of touch with my friend, but I remain fully touched by her imprint on my life. Being in her presence was like sitting with one of the apostles, for me. Or what it might seem like to be in a room with Teresa of Avila or Madam Guyon. I’d never known such a devoted saint and heavenly-oriented soul.

Joni’s reflection on heaven is indicative of just how real it can be for the really broken. In Heaven: Your Real Home she writes:

I can scarcely believe it; I, with shrivelled, bent fingers, atrophied muscles, gnarled knees, and no feeling from the shoulders down, will one day have a new body, light, bright, and clothed in righteousness—powerful and dazzling.

Can you imagine the hope this gives someone spinal cord-injured like me? Or someone who is cerebral palsied, brain-injured, or who has multiple sclerosis? Imagine the hope this gives someone who is manic depressive.

No other religion, no other philosophy promises new bodies, hearts and minds. Only in the Gospel of Christ do hurting people find such incredible hope.
– Joni Earekson Tada, Heaven: Your Real Home

She tells of a Christian convention during which the speaker, at the close of the message, asked his audience to kneel for prayer. She looked on as each made the sacred gesture, but, of course she, being a quadriplegic, couldn’t do it herself. It was all too overwhelming and she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

Being brought up in a Reformed Episcopal Church, it was particularly hard as she’d been accustomed to kneeling for prayer.

Ah, but then her heart warmed as she remembered the promise of resurrection and restoration of all things, including bodies:

Sitting there, I was reminded that in heaven I will be free to jump, dance, kick and do aerobatics. And although I’m sure Jesus will be delighted to watch me rise on tiptoe, there’s something I plan to do that may please him more.

If possible, somewhere, sometime before the party gets going, sometime before the guests are called to the banquet table at the Wedding Feast of the Lamb, the first thing I plan to do on resurrection legs is to drop on grateful, glorified knees. I will quietly kneel at the feet of Jesus.

To not move will be my chance to demonstrate heartfelt thanks to the Lord for the grace He dispensed year after year when my hands and legs were limp and motionless. To not move will be my last chance to present a sacrifice of praise – paralyzed praise!
– Ibid.

My innermost being, broken and touched by the healing hands of Jesus, cries amen. This, too, is my strongest desire, oh Lord. I want to lie still before your Majesty on that day, just as my sister, that the Lamb would receive the reward of His suffering.

Selah, beloved, and Maranatha!