A foundation for faith
Discovering how a physical weakness might just be a spiritual strength
I like to tell people that I became a short person at age 30. Because it was around that time that I went from walking around at a 5’8” height to sitting—usually in a wheelchair—almost full-time.
Shortly after I turned 16, my parents and I discovered I had been living with a rare condition commonly known as a “tethered spinal cord” since birth. In tethered cord patients, a fatty mass grows at the base of the spine, anchoring the spinal cord at the bottom. (A normal spinal cord is anchored only at the top). The non-cancerous fatty tumor not only puts pressure on the spinal cord, it also chokes out the spinal nerves that become imbedded in it. The prognosis for most tethered cord patients is loss of feeling and movement in the legs, as well as loss of bladder and bowel control.
This diagnosis changed my life almost overnight from the carefree existence of a teenager to a serious reality of surgeries, therapy, and shopping for durable medical equipment. By the time I was 18, I had endured two serious spinal cord surgeries, and, due to irreversible nerve damage, was walking with a cane and a leg brace. Although my surgeries temporarily stabilized my condition, by my mid-twenties, my walking started to deteriorate again, bringing me to a point of increasing reliance on a wheelchair to get around.
Prior to my diagnosis, I considered myself, and was considered by friends, to be a “good Christian.” I was raised in the Church; I could think intelligently about matters of faith and give the right answers in Sunday School. But my faith was without the foundation of a relationship. I had a lot of head knowledge, but I didn’t know what it meant to rely on God. I believed everything I excelled in was due to my effort and giftedness.
As a result, my spiritual response to reality as a “disabled person” was bitterness. I can still recall the intense anger I felt when I opened get-well cards with Scripture verses in them. And I still tried to keep my independence and control over my life; I let everyone know I wanted to walk, drive, and get back to my “normal” life again as soon as possible.
Looking back, I can see that my unexpected crisis of health in my teens propelled me from a comfortable, untested, intellectual faith in God into a time of bitterness that ultimately strengthened and deepened my faith. I don’t remember a specific moment of letting go of my resentment and turning back to God. But I think it was because of God’s faithfulness to me and His mercy and grace in keeping me connected to good influences and the Church, that I started to, over time, give up much of my anger. It was only then that I could begin to see good in my situation.
For example, I am, at the core, a very driven, competitive, type- A personality. But my disability limits how much I can do in a day, and how much I can do myself. Every day, I must rely on other people to help me with tasks like grocery shopping, cleaning my house, or lifting my wheelchair into the car. Many days, I struggle with pain or low energy, and I find myself praying for God to give me enough strength to get through the next task, or even the next hour! And during the times when my body forces me to rest, I find I am still enough to hear the quiet voice of God, and I am available enough to pray for the needs of others.
God is showing me that right now, it is good for my soul to be physically imperfect. Could God heal me completely today? Yes, and He may someday. But when I pray about my healing, I have to be honest with God about what I would do if I were healed. And I have a strong sense that if I were healed tomorrow, I would first go out and buy several pairs of trendy shoes to fit on my un-braced feet, and then I would quickly fall back into a life of self-sufficiency and pride. Everything I accomplish would again seem proof of my energy and talent, and my old everyday reality of dependence on God in everything from praying for strength to completing daily tasks would quickly fade into forgetfulness. I have no doubt that I would soon start living my life again at high speed, with less times of simply sitting still and listening to the quiet voice of God.
God’s gift to me through my imperfect body is a tangible awareness of a reality that is true for all humans: We can do nothing without God.
When meeting new people, the first thing Kimberly Forry always notices is their shoes. She and her husband, Adam, have two children, Cassandra and Trace, and make their home in Lititz, Pa. A member of Speedwell Heights BIC (Lititz), Kimberly also works as the communications coordinator for the Atlantic Conference.
