She was a young teenager. She had been in a car accident that changed her life forever. It may have been a gang-related accident. The details were fuzzy. The key players may not have known or weren't saying.
She had been in the hospital a month. She was paralyzed from the neck down. Now she was home and adjusting to her new life in bed, staring at the wall.
"I really think you should go and talk to her about EQUIP," my persistent friend Cristina told me. EQUIP was the boot camp discipleship program I worked with. It was deliberately, ridiculously rigorous. As in, no elevators to navigate thirteen flights of stairs for eight weeks. EQUIP didn't sound like a great fit for a girl newly paralyzed. I dragged my feet.
Cristina is determined. "Okay, I'll go and talk to her," I agreed. (But not about EQUIP.) I was scared silly. What do you say to a teen you've never met whose life has been rearranged by the God you love?
I don't remember what I said. But she and I connected. It could only have been a God thing. It wasn't practice, because it's hard to practice for that kind of conversation. I know I tried to stay away from preaching. I loved. I asked questions. I prayed. I think that she brought up that she thought there might be purpose in this. But she was pretty weak. I think I may have shared some Bible verses that have encouraged me in tough times (like as if I knew anything about the kind of tough she was facing).
I returned and visited--maybe two more times, maybe three. She seemed interested in reading the Bible, so after I moved out of state, I mailed her one in Spanish (her first language). I marked some verses I liked. We became friends on Facebook. She had regained some movement in at least one arm, enough to allow her to work a keyboard.
I'm back in her city for a few days, and I visited her again last night. It was a quick visit, squeezed in at 9:30 PM. Maybe she didn't really want to see me. Maybe she was just being polite. But when I got there, I sensed she did want to see me. We talked easily. She looked good. She was still in a wheelchair. Her bed still showed signs of accommodating her limitations. Her computer was open in front of her, a devotional and her Arabic language textbook next to her.
We talked about her sophomore year in college. She's studying criminal justice. Arabic is an elective. We talked about the Middle East and Islam. She moved her arm, and I caught sight of a tattoo. "What does it say?" I asked.
"No regrets," she replied.
"What does that mean to you?" I wondered, half guessing.
"It means that, despite the things that have happened in my life, I have no regrets. They happened for a reason."
Later she pointed out, "I might never have gone to college [if it weren't for the accident]." It's true. How many gang-runners (or even dabblers) do?
She talked about her Catholic church, about how her dad now goes to church, about how he and her mom are doing a marriage class at church. Her family has come together.
"No regrets." Can I say that about the hard things that have happened to me?
I thought that I was going to encourage a hurting girl that day that God used Cristina to send me to that home. But God was introducing me to another of his faith masterpieces, a work still in progress. God has her in His own rigorous discipleship program. And she is teaching me.
She had been in the hospital a month. She was paralyzed from the neck down. Now she was home and adjusting to her new life in bed, staring at the wall.
"I really think you should go and talk to her about EQUIP," my persistent friend Cristina told me. EQUIP was the boot camp discipleship program I worked with. It was deliberately, ridiculously rigorous. As in, no elevators to navigate thirteen flights of stairs for eight weeks. EQUIP didn't sound like a great fit for a girl newly paralyzed. I dragged my feet.
Cristina is determined. "Okay, I'll go and talk to her," I agreed. (But not about EQUIP.) I was scared silly. What do you say to a teen you've never met whose life has been rearranged by the God you love?
I don't remember what I said. But she and I connected. It could only have been a God thing. It wasn't practice, because it's hard to practice for that kind of conversation. I know I tried to stay away from preaching. I loved. I asked questions. I prayed. I think that she brought up that she thought there might be purpose in this. But she was pretty weak. I think I may have shared some Bible verses that have encouraged me in tough times (like as if I knew anything about the kind of tough she was facing).
I returned and visited--maybe two more times, maybe three. She seemed interested in reading the Bible, so after I moved out of state, I mailed her one in Spanish (her first language). I marked some verses I liked. We became friends on Facebook. She had regained some movement in at least one arm, enough to allow her to work a keyboard.
I'm back in her city for a few days, and I visited her again last night. It was a quick visit, squeezed in at 9:30 PM. Maybe she didn't really want to see me. Maybe she was just being polite. But when I got there, I sensed she did want to see me. We talked easily. She looked good. She was still in a wheelchair. Her bed still showed signs of accommodating her limitations. Her computer was open in front of her, a devotional and her Arabic language textbook next to her.
We talked about her sophomore year in college. She's studying criminal justice. Arabic is an elective. We talked about the Middle East and Islam. She moved her arm, and I caught sight of a tattoo. "What does it say?" I asked.
"No regrets," she replied.
"What does that mean to you?" I wondered, half guessing.
"It means that, despite the things that have happened in my life, I have no regrets. They happened for a reason."
Later she pointed out, "I might never have gone to college [if it weren't for the accident]." It's true. How many gang-runners (or even dabblers) do?
She talked about her Catholic church, about how her dad now goes to church, about how he and her mom are doing a marriage class at church. Her family has come together.
"No regrets." Can I say that about the hard things that have happened to me?
I thought that I was going to encourage a hurting girl that day that God used Cristina to send me to that home. But God was introducing me to another of his faith masterpieces, a work still in progress. God has her in His own rigorous discipleship program. And she is teaching me.
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