I parked my car, opened the driver's door, turned around, then a sharp pain shot through my feet. Refusing to miss another field trip with my youngest son, I shuffled to the museum door. Once inside, I faced the inevitable and did what I'd never done before: I asked for a wheelchair. Fighting defeated emotions, I hobbled to a corner and waited for the chair.
Three months earlier I'd been diagnosed with the Epstein-Barr virus, which was causing neuropathy in my feet and ankles. Now, when I push too hard with my legs, debilitating pain ricochets through my feet.
I slumped into the wheelchair's hard, metal frame and cried. I'd handled a lot of unexpected turns in my nine years as a widowed mom, but nothing could stop the swell of emotion that day. Is this where I'm headed, God? How will we manage? What will Sam think when we walks in the door with his class? I've missed so many field trips; I just wanted this day to be special.
I dried my tears and wheeled the chair toward the group of waiting moms. The bus arrived and chatty middle school students filled the lobby. Sam filed in and searched for his tall mother in the crowd. Eventually his blue eyes settled on my hidden form. A quizzical look met my gaze, and his lips slowly broke into a grin. The grin turned into a giggle and the giggle into a hearty laugh.
"What are you laughing at, Sam."
"It's just that you're in a wheelchair. You, my go-get-'em mom. It doesn't fit you." His contagious laugh soon had me smiling, too. He was right. The wheelchair didn't fit me, and I didn't have to let it hold my spirit down either.
He wheeled me around with confidence, manuevering skillfully through the crowd. Sam's loving laughter reminded me that he and I, with God's help, will handle whatever life brings - together.
Schreer Davis, Susan. "Wheelchair Detour." Focus on the Family Single-Parent Edition Jan 2007: 11.