I read about a young man paralyzed in a freak accident. The story gave a glimpse of his grief and sorrow. The terrible prospect of permanent disability is beginning to sink in and it's breaking his heart. He told the reporter, "It's really, really hard." And so it is. Life with catastrophic disability is a hard journey. I know, I've lived with degenerative multiple sclerosis for over 40 years. Unexpectedly, yet wonderfully God lifted my paralysis in 2018 and I stood and walked away from my electric wheelchair. The Holy Spirit told me not to forget how deep my sorrow, fears, and sense of isolation became in my grieving physical loss.
At the deepest point of grieving, life can seem like an endless series of disappointments, accommodations and compromises, lost opportunities, and inexpressible sorrow. One can feel totally alone, even in a crowded room.
Such a loneliness
Disability is a lonesome journey. It's not that friends are unkind - just hard to find. Then there are those dreaded moments at the end of each evening and one must make his way to the terror of the bedroom. It's in there that the darkness awaits to engulf a grieving person in fitful sleep-wake torture.
A chorus of despair, self-doubts and fear whisper, "You are alone. Nobody understands."
It is there, in the middle of an endless night, lying wide-awake staring into darkness, that a bed can become a rack. The horrible truth of life's misfortune can seem too great to bear. A human soul lays open like a gaping wound. Whimpers break into sobs of raw, pulsating grief.
Grievers beware! Emotions are unreliable, they are apt to intensify the feeling of isolation out of all proportion. Tears obscure vision and grief distorts perceptions of reality.
There is no such thing as an endless night. It only seems that way. The longest night must eventually give way to dawn. It is only fear and grief that tell us otherwise. Even the pitch black of arctic winter days will, in due course, transform into a peculiar summer midnight sun.
Many people with profound disabilities have risen above their predicaments and abyss of intense grief to incredible spiritual heights and human achievements-sometimes in spite of their disabilities and sometimes because of them.
Transcending disability
Perhaps the most famous example is Ludwig Van Beethoven (1770-1827). Most of his vast contribution to the world of music were written in either partial or complete deafness.
George Frederic Handel (1685-1759) suffered from manic depression. His beloved Messiah was written at the end of a depressive bout.
John Milton (1608-74) was blind when he wrote Paradise Lost (1667). Paradise Lost is generally considered to be the greatest epic in the English language. (Remember that John Milton also wrote Paradise Regained.)
Elizabeth Barrett Browning was an "invalid and a recluse" to use the phrasing of one biographer. There was nothing invalid about her - her gift for lyric poetry is with us to this day.
Franklin Delano Roosevelt was physically crippled from polio at the age of 39, yet as America's 32nd president he led an entire nation through most of the Great Depression and the Second World War.
Grief, sorrow and fear are not unique to people with disabilities: they are common to the human experience. Everybody is acquainted with sorrow. Everyone is afraid.
With the exception of babies and small children, everyone has fears from the past and fears of the future.
Most people are afraid of serious self-examination lest they come face to face with inner demons, character flaws and emotional handicaps. They might be challenged to go through a difficult process of change. Some people fear being forgotten while others fear being remembered.
We are afraid of committing ourselves wholly to love yet afraid of being unloved. Many people are afraid of committing themselves to lives with purpose - yet despise those who do.
Some people are afraid of dying outside God's grace yet they are afraid to truly live within it. We may be afraid being seen as extreme yet afraid to venture outside mediocrity.
But there is a question that has always been deep within you that must be asked. What is within you and I that can help us to transcend ourselves from fear to live a life of purpose and serve God?
Mark Davis Pickup






