More on Rich Dixon’s story:
He left me there, next to all the traffic, right in the middle of the street.
Is he crazy? I’m going to get killed!
I waited. No way he’s going to just leave me here. He’ll come back.
So there I sat. Cars screamed past on the busy street behind, Mount Everest loomed in front.
A car turned the corner. The driver steered around, glaring at me. Probably figured that’s how I ended up in a wheelchair in the first place, too stupid to stay out of traffic.
Leonard didn’t reappear. He expects me to climb this mountain by myself. He’s nuts!
Pushing a chair with hands that can’t grip the rims is a skill. Requires instruction and practice. A hill on a street in hot weather with no assistance isn’t the ideal learning environment.
Rising temperature. No water. Move a foot forward, slip three feet back. Then a foot forward, a foot back. Eventually, I managed to gain three, lose one.
I reached the top, but please don’t envision some sort of miracle turning point. It wasn’t, because I wasn’t ready.
+ + +
A friend recently shared Relentless Grace with his dad, who’s been depressed for 3 years following a Parkinson’s diagnosis. He said discussing the book got his dad off the couch and walking/exercising again.
“What made the difference?” I asked.
“You shared the real story, not a Hallmark movie. You didn’t try to make yourself heroic, weren’t afraid to share your fear and weakness.
“I think you gave a tough guy space to admit he’s afraid.”
I smiled, because that’s the whole point: God’s faithfulness despite my persistent lack of faith.
Next time, some thoughts about Leonard’s role in the story of Relentless Grace.
To be continued…