I’d like to thank…

I’ve just been on holiday. I had an amazing time. And I couldn’t have done it alone.

In a testament to just how much our Church loves each other, and how far I’ve come in relinquishing my stubborn independence in order to actually achieve anything, I’d like to say some thank yous.

Before I went:

Eight weeks of gradual planning and packing meant that I wasn’t too drained to travel. I’d like to thank my sister, for lending me a tent, and Ruth for coming over to help put it up. Dave and Amy for congratulating me on wrestling it back into the bag by myself. My Dad for lending me his tin box of useful camping things, with which I fed people, lent guy ropes, pegs, and generally kept other people warm and dry. My Mum for cooking for me in the week I was packing, and taking me shopping for food. Also for her heaps of encouragement. But then you’d expect that from family.

I’d like to thank my landlord and landlady for lending me a stove, ice box and gas, and for calling their friend Charles who had a kettle and brought it round specially. Thanks go to my physio for talking me through the energy I’d need for different things, helping push through the wheelchair assessment, and checking up that I wasn’t exhausting myself. And to the lady whose wheelchair I eventually bought, who completed the sale while attached to an oxygen machine, and whose parents drove her home in order to do so. Thanks go to Lee, the EPC manager who couriered parts to me in time for me to attach them, and the bike shop guys on my road for having a look at my spokes.

I’d like to thank the staff at Momentum, especially Sam who handled my booking, and all who answered my trivial questions carefully.

And for moral support, particular thanks go to Sally and Clare (also baker of flapjack, pray-er and wheelie skills helper) on twitter, and numerous other encouragers. At church, our student worker reacted just right, by getting to know me first and my care needs second. Then came naturally to the conclusion that if our church couldn’t look after each other, there was something wrong with the way we were doing church. I was emboldened.

When I got there:

Pete’s Dad Dave, who picked me up on the morning we left, and dodged traffic to get us to the meeting point on time. Pete for driving, Anna and Joe for letting me have the front seat when they were so squashed they couldn’t get into their own pockets. Anna W for coordinating it all. Ellie and Matt for making my packed lunch (with which we fed three people), and Samuel (4) for jumping up and down when I arrived at their house. Also thanks to the family for their spare key, and the backup plan of a bed and shower if I needed it.

Then I was safely in the care of my church group, a selection of 30 students and young (or not so young) adults, of whom I’d met five before. Thanks go to the tent putter-uppers, Nick, Martin and Ian; the chefs and food preparers, Imogen, Ben, and Naomi; those who brought me just what I needed and exactly how I’d asked for it. Thanks to those who did my washing up without questioning why, who bought food and planned for meals to just be there for me, and the girl who made me hot tea at 7am in the rain. Thanks to the people who pushed my wheelchair; Andy, Danny, Martin, Jenni and others, and to Ed for holding an umbrella over me while they did so.

When I collapsed, particular thanks go to Anna T for noticing what was wrong, following instructions, and holding my head up while I drank Andy’s squash. To Naomi for fetching Ian’s jumper and making me comfortable. To Andy for not freaking out and timing my collapse (33 minutes 45 seconds).

The isolation can be particularly tough, so thanks to Ian for asking good questions and listening, to Cameron for being up early enough that I wasn’t doing physio exercises alone, to Andy for speaking the truth when I was doubting, and to Becs, who gave me a hug when everyone went dancing and I couldn’t join in.

In worship, I love to hold my hands in the air, jump and dance. Thanks to Basil, Toby, and the effortlessly cool East London guys for dancing so that I didn’t have to, to Christian, Pippa and Hannah for singing so beautifully I felt heard when I was too tired to sing. Between us, the worship I wanted to bring was offered up from our church. And thanks to everyone in front of me who refrained from putting their hands up so that I could see the words. Thanks to those who prayed for me – the prophetic words and pictures seem to form part of a bigger picture, and it’s a beautiful and exciting one.

And to my friends from home, a big thank you to Rich and Dave for a very normal chat over hot chocolate like the good old days, a cheeky thanks to Rich for letting me steal his coffee to warm my hands on while I was in the shower queue, and amazing gratitude to Dave for going out from his parent’s house to buy me new wellies. If you don’t use walking boots for two years, they disintegrate entirely, soles first. Who knew?!

And afterwards?

I still had to endure a few lonely days’ bedrest with laughable amounts of pain. But the overall effect of the holiday was transformative. With this support team of around fifty people to share the load, it’s easy to move from feeling 100% disabled to only 2% disabled, which is hardly disabled at all. An amazing relief, and a window of respite from a tough few months of missing out. The sermon at church today was based on Philippians 4:10-23 – the bit where Paul talks about being content in all situations. It might be easy to imagine that I’d be more content with my life if I wasn’t ill all the time, but to my delight, as I closed my eyes to imagine the place I felt content, and found it was exactly where I was sitting. The preacher spoke of pain being measurably easier to bear when one isn’t alone, and of the encouragement of doing life alongside other people, just as Paul encouraged his church in Philippi and was supported by them. Of weak people being made strong through the embodiment of Christ’s love, the Church.

With the extended Church to support me in this way, physically, emotionally and spiritually, and with the certain hope of a time to come when there will, finally, at last, be no more pain, I have found I am able to be content with what I have.

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