I want everyone to have the experience that I had that day – to be in a space where there is true love and acceptance for each member.  Where people show up with their whole, unedited selves and are embraced. 

These two stories may seem quite different – in the first I was overlooked and in the second I was singled out – but the experience of both was similar. Sitting on my walker meant that I was perceived differently than the people around me.

I laid in my stretcher outside the operating room listening to the metallic clink of the doctors preparing their tools and I gave my fears, hopes, and doubts over to God.  I had connected with family and friends.  Made sure people knew I loved them.  The odds were good I would see everyone again but my health had been declining steadily for two years and I didn’t trust my body anymore.

The Psalmist says “you knit me together in my mother’s womb” which depicts a sculptural process of knitting an intricate and individual item.  Knitting is flexible, sculptural, but not terribly efficient.  It’s a loving form of art where the artist spends time with the project, enjoying the process of creating. 

  He was middle aged, had Down Syndrome, and spoke no English, but he said hello and quickly answered my introductory question about how long he had worked in that shop.  I apologized for not understanding his answer and he realized that I was at a disadvantage in this conversation. 

Then the pandemic hit and everything moved online.  Our church hosted multiple online ways to connect: Zoom calls, online teaching, podcasts, Instagram and Facebook communities, virtual camp, book clubs, park meetups, subscription boxes and more.  I could fully integrate into the life of our church community and it was wonderful.