On the way home today, I strayed from my usual route down the interstate to take a drive up Kennesaw Mountain. At the corner of one of the major intersections I saw a family of three: a mother, her wheelchair-bound daughter and a father, who was planting a sign soliciting financial help for his disabled little girl. It was a sight that would've stopped anyone dead in their tracks.
McKenzie, a seven-year-old who suffers from life-threatening mitochondrial disease, was the most precious, joyful child you ever laid eyes on. As I approached her, the power of her spirit reached far beyond the confines of her tiny chair and pierced my heart. Her smiles and laughter forced tears of both joy and pain from my every attempt to restrain them.
Her mother explained how the family had to make special trips to Florida for McKenzie's treatment, and how Medicaid and insurance companies were fighting them tooth and nail over obvious necessities. To soothe my anger, I turned back to the blue-eyed angel whose gaze was fixed on me. I told her how pretty she was and that she needed to live in Disney World with the other princesses. Her eyes flashed, and with a wide grin she drained any remaining composure from me. I walked away speechless after some quick hugs.Tonight I went to the movies to see The Blind Side. It's a film about Ole Miss (University of Mississippi) football player Michael Oher, whose destiny is changed when a wealthy couple rescues him from the Memphis slums and sets him up for success in college and life.
As I'm walking in, a woman in a wheelchair is coming toward me. I recognize a face I hadn't seen in almost 17 years. Lori Sneed is an Ole Miss alum, like myself, and though I only knew 'of' her in college, I remembered her bright countenance from a few, brief encounters. I figured it was a good bet that it was her, given the subject of the movie we'd come to see — and I was right. I called her name as she and her mother walked by, and since she'd never met me she was shocked that I even knew who she was.
The year I went to Ole Miss, Lori had been in a car accident that left her a quadriplegic. Everyone on campus knew her because of her irrepressible spirit and her distinction as an Ole Miss "favorite," a select group of students who made a significant impact on those around them. As we hurriedly chatted amidst the flow of movie-goers, I was quickly reminded why she was so honored.Again, I was given a fleeting moment to be touched by a soul so much stronger than mine.
Two completely random encounters in the same day. Two divine appointments. Two beautiful girls whose broken bodies can't begin to contain the life within them. Was this for my encouragement? My admonishment? My brokenness? It was all of these. But to be led to the same powerful illustration twice? It haunts me. What level of blindness could need such a reminder?
Maybe this is just God's way of giving "balance" to my last post. Though every word of it was true, there is an equally true reality — a hard one — that words can't do justice. All the 'why's remain unanswered.
2 comments:
Great post Shawn. My daughter Grace just finished reading me three Chicken Soup for the Soul stories and then I read your post.
What a reminder of just how good my life is. And what small burdens He has asked me to carry today.
You're so right. The whole experience put a much deeper meaning into my Thanksgiving.
I usually make a list of things I'm thankful for (never even get close to halfway completing it), and take it to the beach or somewhere secluded where I can be alone with Him. This year's list will start with what He showed me through these two.
Post a Comment