We’ve gone miles, you and me.
We’ve walked and we’ve wheeled and I’ve carried you.
Your daddy and I—we’ve carried you places you didn’t really want to go. We’ve carried you places we were scared to take you, but we took you anyways because we thought it could help.
And all of it has been so we can look you in the eye when you’re 16—or however old you are when you start asking hard questions… knowing you, it might be when you’re 6—and tell you we did everything, everything, everything we could for you.
Your daddy and I—we took you to the best doctor we could find. We packed clothes and medical supplies, lugged a circus train through the airport, and navigated a new city five times over. When Daddy couldn’t come, Tootsie flew from Dallas to meet us at the airport so we wouldn’t have to do this thing alone, you and me. We organized people to stay with A, pick her up from school, and love her while we were away.
We took away your ability to walk for a little while with full leg casts and two surgeries.
With casts and cuts, that doctor changed your feet. They feel different when I rock you to sleep and hold your feet in my hands. There’s now a heel and an arch and a structure that will support you when you stand.
I wish I had the words to say what that means to a mama, but I don’t. So, I’ll say it simply. We are so, so grateful.
I hope you’ll forgive me as I play the historian. You’ve got a story, my girl.
I wish I could tell it all to you now, but you’re three. So, for now I’ll save the big things here; I’ll store up the hopes that swell my mama heart as I watch God write your story.
Those scars are yours; the story is yours to tell.
So, take this story, take those feet and go into the places I could never go.
You’ve been given a gift—and I’m not talking about feet that are “fixed.” It’s the whole thing—the story from start to finish that turns heads and shows people the greatness of our God. It’s unique, but it’s the same because it’s the story He’s been telling from the beginning: He redeems, He renews.
There’s the story of the men who lower their friend through the roof because they’ve heard there’s a chance this Jesus man can heal.
And I don’t think this story is just about the man with the disability being helped by his friends. A disability isn’t a pitiable thing; never let anyone tell you otherwise.
The human condition is characterized by brokenness, and it presents itself in as many ways as there are people. When I’ve had a broken heart, my family and friends cut that hole through the ceiling. They set me in front of my Jesus, and He’s given me grace. You don’t know it yet, but your story has lowered the hurting hearts, the concrete hearts, the doubting hearts through that ceiling.
And that’s the church. We all do this for each other. Over and over. And that’s our God. He gives us grace. Over and over. Because God is not a God who simply accepts our brokenness. He takes us and changes us.
His gospel is a gospel of change. It’s the good story of redemption.