Half A Life

I wasn’t sure I’d get to write this post.

Today is the 36th anniversary of my accident. 36 years since I fell 9 feet from a roof, took my first-ever ambulance ride, and learned I’d spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair.

I wasn’t sure I’d get to write this post, because a few weeks after my accident I asked my neurosurgeon for a prognosis. He told me matter-of-factly I’d probably live to age 40, but I was unlikely to reach age 50.

I was 36 years old at the time.

When I tell people that story, they tend to say something like, “Well, I guess you showed him.” But at age 72, that’s not how I look at this day.

Today marks the day that I’ve spent half my life in a wheelchair. From now on, it’ll be more wheeling than walking. I don’t know what that means, but somehow it’s a meaningful demarcation point for me.

I don’t spend a whole lot of time thinking about what life was like before my accident, but I admit this day has me remembering that for half my life I wasn’t dependent on wheels. Honestly, that seems like a lifetime (or half a lifetime) ago.

I know Jesus stood beside me half-a-lifetime ago and wept when I was injured. I know he’s been with me through every twist and turn along the 36 years of my wheeled journey, and I know he’s used every bit of the pain and struggle for good…often in ways I’ll never know about.

Even when I don’t feel like continuing, which I confess is pretty frequently these days, I trust that He’ll continue to do that.

Thank you for joining me on this path. Your presence encourages me more than you’ll ever know.