More on Rich Dixon’s story:

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Last time you and Leonard left me at the bottom of a hill.

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.

He didn’t.

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.

Two hours.

I reached the top, but please don’t envision some sort of miracle turning point. It wasn’t, because I wasn’t ready.

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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…