Somewhere in America---It was the 1950's and everything was going according
to "God's plan" for her life. Married to a minister, filled with musical talent with
two children and another to arrive any day. She would never expect what future
was soon to unfold for her. And if she had known, would she have been so
willing to take another step, or live another day?The blessed day arrived for the birth of her third child but something was wrong. The Doctor had not arrived at the hospital yet. She was in full labor but she was told by the nurses to hold it in. How is that possible? The unbearable pain of childbirth alone was enough, and now she needed to wait? The Doctor must be present, they went on to tell her. So they held her legs together.
Times were different. It was the 50's. There was no husband in the room. There was no advocate. The only thing she could do was to scream out in pain. Time passed and the doctor arrived and so did the precious little girl. The precious little girl…who had suffered brain damage from the trauma caused by the pressure of being held in.
Back then the term was “mentally retarded.”
Why-oh-why? No tears could be enough. The couple grieved. What would the future hold for this little girl? What chances would she have to ever have a normal life?
Later the couple would find out that the practice of the hospital was to not pay the Doctor unless he was physically in the room. Cost to have a baby in the 1950's? $35.
There was no law suit. There was no yelling and screaming at the medical staff. There was only the searching for peace and understanding to God's perfect plan. And forgiveness. And more searching.
So life continued and another son was added to the family. One evening a call came from her husband asking if she would drive with him to nearby town to look at something he wanted to buy. With four children she was feeling overwhelmed that day and said she needed to stay home and would wait for him to have dinner. And she waited. And waited.
The knock. The police. A head-on collision on the highway.
A funeral.
Could there even be a plan? How could this be it? A minister's wife was now a widow with four small children, one of whom was mentally challenged.
I respected this woman growing up. But I never knew her story. All I knew was that she was a great friend to my mother. And that she was a pillar of the church. She was a faithful member who was willing to do whatever was needed of her, and always with a smile. But the mentally challenged daughter seemed annoying to me when I was a teenager. Watching her rock back and forth on the front row of church each Sunday. And all the hugging and loud proclamations whenever she greeted you...
As a kid, I didn't understand. I was not even capable of relating. I was way too busy trying to be popular.
But as I aged, I found a new joy in her daughter. Undaunted she would throw her arms around me whenever I was home to visit from college. I appreciated it more every time. She always remembered everyone's name. Her joy at seeing people was contagious and consistent. Her enthusiasm for life was real. Her innocence to world problems was something to be envied.
The daughter went on to become a greeter at Wal-Mart and recently celebrated her 18th year of employment there! Now independent and living in her own home that she was able to purchase instead of living in an apartment. She has an orchestrated routine of taking taxi's to and from work, washing laundry, going to church. A life for her, that is normal. A life to those around her, that is extraordinary.
For her mother, it didn’t come easy. There was a multitude of years of worry, vast amounts of patience, professionals and hard work by both Mother and Daughter to achieve independence. The other siblings have grown up to live traditional lives, but this daughter, this one is special and has touched so many people in wonderful ways. She seriously is a gift to others.
I sat and visited this mother. The woman who had been through so much. She is in her 80's and her small framed body has had a bout with cancer. She answered the door with the same sparkle in her eye that I had come to know. We had coffee in her small and tidy apartment in an independent living facility and to get caught up. I wanted to see her and thank her for the years of kindness she had given my family. With any compliment she looks down in pure humility and generously turns it to not be about her.
We gazed up at her collections of plates from around the world that covered her living room walls, neatly organized with the perfect amount of space between each.
All these years I had known her, I just never thought to ask about her story. I only saw her as a pillar of strength. Consistent and Godly. All I had to do was ask. And in response to "What was your husband like?" she smiled a very big smile and started to tell me.
When we talked about her husband’s death, I mentioned that when I was 20, my friend was killed in a car accident in Kansas. I vowed to keep in touch with his parents and through the years, my friend's mother had told me there were days she wanted her life to end because it was so hard to go on day to day.
She looked up with tears in her eyes.
"Yes, I thought about it. There were days I just didn't want to go on," her voice cracked.
I was shocked she had admitted this. I always thought she was so strong and would never say such a thing!
"Sometimes overwhelming responsibilities and the ever present loneliness were reasons I wanted to end my life. But I knew I could never do that to my children. So during times like that I turned to the Lord for strength to go on, " she responded.
And then I understood. This was a woman I had known my entire life, but never asked the difficult personal questions. She always seemed so cheerful. That's how I thought of her and knew her as. But this woman was just human. What happened to her wasn't fair, she didn't choose it or deserve it. But she had made a choice a long time ago. Instead of being bitter or a victim, she had let God's strength live through her.
She was and is, a woman of God's grace.
