A friend of mine took her daughter to the park recently.

While they were there, a man asked if he could pray for my friend’s daughter.  She said yes and he proceeded to pray for Kaelyn to be healed.  For her to experience “normalcy.”

And for her fingers to grow.

Kaelyn, besides being as cute as a button, has a little left hand with tiny fingers.

Me and the adorable Kaelyn

Kaelyn’s mom shared this experience on Facebook and the reactions caught me off-guard.  This guy was called a creep and an idiot, even a lowlife scumbag.  It was clear many thought his actions were beyond inappropriate; they were offensive and insulting.

The responses surprised me because I know where this guy is coming from.  I’ve grown-up in an environment where the ability of God to heal people physically is not only believed, but expected.  In fact, when I was younger, I was taken to a “healing convention,” since I was born with one hand.  We all lined-up on the floor of the coliseum and were prayed for.  I was even “slain in the Spirit.”  And by “slain in the Spirit,”  I mean that they pushed on my forehead and I dutifully fell back and then took a short nap.  My arm, shockingly, remained in the same condition.

My belief is that this man at the park was just trying to help.  He was misguided and uninformed regarding what he perceived as her needs, but I truly believe he had her best interests in mind.  Like me, Kaelyn doesn’t need physical healing for her hand.  She’s not ill or in pain, nor does she have a disease; she is the way God made her.  God didn’t forget to have her fingers grow.

Then there is the issue of normalcy, which seemed to be the most offensive part of the experience to those who commented.  “What’s normal anyway?” one person said.  Well, the definition of normal is “to conform to the most common.”  The fact of the matter is, having two hands is more normal than having one or none.  I’m sure that’s where he was coming from when he was praying for her.  Perhaps a better question than “What is normal?” then is, “Who cares about normal?”  Yeah, it’s true, I’m not normal.  I have one hand.  I’m different.  And for me at least, being different is awesome.  I believe that the more I try to be normal, the more I miss out on being unique.

The truth of the matter here is that we all have a lot to learn.

For the Christians in the house: Oftentimes, what seems right and helpful, might actually be perceived as insulting and even creepy.  This man’s words and actions, while well-intentioned, were perceived to be offensive and insulting because he assumed she wanted to be “normal” like him.  He assumed there was something “wrong” with her.  I’d suggest, before offering to pray for someone about what you perceive to be their needs, ask them what their needs are.  Tell them what you’d like to pray about before doing so and don’t be offended if they say, “No, thank you.”  Be open to hearing their perspective and learn from the situation.

And to all the non-Christians:  Be patient with us.  We Christians try really hard, but sometimes our good intentions undermine common courtesy and understanding.  Please believe that we’re trying to help, but also take it as an opportunity to teach us; especially those of us who have misunderstandings about the physically different.  And please don’t think we’re all creepy, idiotic, low-life scumbags.

The way I see it, my friend’s experience illustrated perfectly the paradigm shift that needs to continue in the world, but especially within the Christian community.  Nancy Eiesland’s work, The Disabled God, opened my own eyes to new perspectives regarding physical differences and disabilities in relation to my theological beliefs.  Certainly Jesus healed many with physical ailments, but obviously not all.  There’s no doubt in my mind that God can physically heal people, but I believe our definition of “heal” needs clarification.  For instance, perhaps you remember the paralyzed man whose friends lowered him through a roof into a crowded house because they believed Jesus could heal him.  Jesus first forgave his sins and then, to make a point to the Pharisees about the difficulty of doing so, healed the man physically.  The man’s physical healing was secondary to his spiritual healing.

I’d venture to guess that the majority of us who were born physically different would say we don’t need physical healing.  As I’ve said already, we are not ill or diseased or in pain.  We are the way God made us.  He didn’t screw-up.  We, too, have been fearfully and wonderfully made.

Let me be clear here:  I don’t envy the position “normal” people are in when it comes to knowing how to interact with those of us who are physically different.  I know most of you try hard and do your best, but the truth is, we’re all still learning.  And that’s great.  We have a long way to go, but we’re getting there.  I’m hopeful that the more we identify these issues and work through them, the better off we’ll be.

And just for the record, if you want to pray for me, I have a list.

My arm growing is not on it.

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There’s a Culver’s restaurant two blocks from my house.

Without trying to sound overly dramatic, that’s where my life changed forever.

And I’m not referring to a fried cheese-curd experience.

In late 2010, I was eating dinner by myself (and loving it because I’m an introvert), when I noticed a little boy who had an arm just like mine.  “Cool,” I smiled to myself.  As I finished my meal and headed toward the door, his mom came running.  Slightly out of breath, she presented her son to me.  I remember it being as awkward as that sentence sounds.  He was wearing a Tigers shirt, so I asked if he played ball.  He did.  He explained that he didn’t have a favorite position, but that he played them all.  After a minute we said our “nice to meet yous” and headed toward our cars.

I remember feeling sad as I walked away.  The mom clearly loved her son, but she seemed worried.  It was like she was saying, “Look, son, he’s like you!”  I wanted to give them a hug and tell them everything was going to be fine.  I just wanted to help them.  And that was the very first time that I thought I could be helpful in that way.  Helping amputees and their families, I mean.  The truth is, I hardly ever used to see amputees.  Like, ever.  I honestly never even knew I was an amputee until I broke my short arm in 2008.  To me, the word implies a cutting off.  Like, you get run over by a truck and they amputate your leg.  I was born this way, so I never viewed myself as one.  Now I know the truth, which is that I’m a congenital amputee.

After that experience, I wrote a piece for RelevantMagazine.com called Finding – And Being – Good Community.  It is the very beginning of LivingOneHanded.com, even before I had the name.  In fact it wasn’t until nearly a year later that I launched the blog.  But, that experience was the crucible for everything I’m doing now.

Which brings me to the other night.

On a Thursday night, in the same Culver’s where it all began, I met with Luke and his mom, Jane.  Luke is going into 6th grade, likes to read and play soccer, and his right arm ends at his elbow.  Oh, and he often rides his bike to the Culver’s that is (did I mention this before?) TWO BLOCKS FROM MY HOUSE.  One day he saw my business card on the board there and took it home.  Turns out, our families live less than five minutes from each other.  Coincidences are so awesome.

Luke and I got sundaes and the three of us talked about life with one arm.  Luke told me about his bike (of which I’m totally jealous) and the fun he had at camp recently.  We talked about how it’s a little uncomfortable when you play games at school where you have to hold hands.  “But, if it’s someone I don’t know very well, I just tell them they can grab my shoulder,” Luke said.  His solution caught Jane off-guard.  She was so proud; it was adorable.

Jane told me about Luke’s great friends and also her concerns for him.  “Trust me, you have nothing to worry about,” I told her.  And I believe that whole-heartedly.  Luke is intelligent, polite, confident and funny.  I didn’t say this at the time, but I think Jane’s biggest worry will be keeping the girls at bay!

After a while, we moseyed out to head home.  We gave hugs, took a picture and promised to keep in touch.  As I got into my car, I’ll be honest…I was on cloud nine.  The visit was even better than I had hoped for.  And prayed for.  On the way there I had prayed that I’d have the right words to say, that we’d have a good time, and that it’d be encouraging.  I’m humbled that I get to be a part of Luke and Jane’s story.  It’s an honor.

Luke and me and the LOH-mobile.

What’s so exciting about this “circle of life” event, is that I know it’s still just the beginning.  I’m so excited to be a part of this journey LOH has me on and I can’t wait to see where it goes next.

And I encourage you to be on the lookout in your own life.  Amazing stories can begin anywhere.

Even at a family burger joint.

I’d love if you shared your story with us, particularly if it had an unexpected beginning!

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