One day Peter and John were going up to the temple at the time of prayer—at three in the afternoon. Now a man who was lame from birth was being carried to the temple gate called Beautiful, where he was put every day to beg from those going into the temple courts. When he saw Peter and John about to enter, he asked them for money. Peter looked straight at him, as did John. Then Peter said, “Look at us!” So the man gave them his attention, expecting to get something from them.
Acts 3:1-5
Babies have no idea how helpless they are. Upon entering this world, they can do nothing for themselves. They can’t feed themselves, change themselves, get up and go to the bathroom by themselves, or put themselves to bed. They are completely and totally dependent on someone else doing all of those things for them. Parents gleefully relish in caring for their children, taking ownership of their baby’s smiles and coos as they meet every need. Parents even develop a special vernacular that they use in reference to their babies. “Let’s get you dressed,” or “Let’s get you fed,” or “Let’s put you to bed,” as if there really is an “us” involved. The baby isn’t involved at all. They are just bystanders in the process. If they don’t want to go to bed, or wear a particular outfit they don’t really have a say. It just happens. But nonetheless “they” do all sorts of things!
However, as soon as they learn to do things on their own and develop language to communicate with their parents these precious babies start to exert their independence. Phrases like “I’ll do it myself!” and “no!”come out of their darling little mouths as they begin to discover their autonomy. Before long they are walking and talking and feeding and dressing themselves and no longer dependent on mommy and daddy.
Babies have no idea how helpless they are. I did.
I was wheeled into our home in my new wheelchair driven by my father. I was still not capable, of driving it with my hand, and the sip and puff controls were not near efficient enough for driving long distances. He wheeled me into our living room and over to my “spot” beside the sofa. The next few months would be spent trying to figure out what life was going to look like in our new normal.
Every morning, we would awake and Jodi would get up and get ready. As soon as she was at a point where she could turn her attention to me, she would begin the process of getting me dressed. This would involve various iterations of rolling me from one side to another to change underwear and pants, and place a fresh shirt over my head. Then she would roll me onto my side and place a multi-colored sling underneath me. Rolling our Hoyer lift into position over the bed, she would attach the straps from my sling onto the hooks of its giant arm, lift me out of the bed, roll me into position over the chair, and lower me to my seat for the day. Every morning as we went through this ritual, I couldn’t help but think about Darth Vader’s helmet being lowered down on to his mangled head in the Star Wars movies. Sometimes I would hum his theme music out loud; every day I sang it in my head.
My teeth would be brushed, my medicine dispensed, and I would be helped to use the bathroom. My phone would be placed on it’s perch just over my left armrest and I would be wheeled once again into my “spot.”
I had a pretty strict regimen. Every 30 minutes I was supposed to recline my chair to a “pressure release” position so that I didn’t get pressure sores; every 4-6 hours I was supposed to use the restroom so that my bladder didn’t get stretched (since I couldn’t always tell when I had to go); and multiple times a day I was supposed to take handfuls of pills that were responsible for keeping me healthy, breathing, and sane.
Every evening we would repeat the process in reverse, brushing teeth, taking pills, removing clothes and placing me back into bed. Every other day, Jodi would bathe me. At first, with a tub and wash rag in the bed, and later by placing me in a shower chair with the Hoyer lift.
Along the way, my caregivers (Primarily Jodi and my bonus-mom Cindy, but also my girls and others) began to talk to me (and about me) much in the same way that new parents spoke about their babies. And understandably so, in many ways, I was like a brand new giant baby. Everything a baby needed a parent provided. Everything I needed, someone had to provide for me, it just isn’t near as cute when your newborn is 43 years old and weighs over 100 pounds! It was not uncommon for me to hear those similar parental phrases. “Let’s get you dressed.” “Let’s get you up.” “Let’s get you fed.” It was also pretty common to have people talking about me with me in ear shot: “I need to get ‘him’ to bed,” or “Does ‘he’ need I to eat,” were spoken by well intentioned folks as if I was a non-communicative baby unable to voice my own needs and wants.
Make absolutely no mistake about it, Jodi and Cindy and others meant no ill will toward me. They were simply trying to communicate with me and others about my needs and their intentions. They in no way were trying to belittle me, or emasculate me, or make me feel any more helpless than I was. But these phrases pressed every insecurity button in my very fragile heart. I was already feeling like a burden, but as the days and weeks following my second homecoming passed, I was beginning to feel less and less like an adult man and so helpless that my sense of self-worth was completely destroyed. I got to the point where I didn’t want to get out of the house, and when people came over to visit, I just wanted to sit in my spot and be ignored. I wanted as little attention on me as possible. I didn’t want anyone else having to see just how low fungal meningitis had taken me.
I have loved the story of Peter and John healing the paralytic at the gate called Beautiful since seminary. The way the Peter and John spoke to the Sanhedrin following the healing has inspired me for a long time. But there is one part of the story that I didn’t understand until I found myself in a position similar to the invalid at the gate. In the story the lame man is placed every day at the temple so that he can beg for food and money— I suppose it was assumed that people might be a little more benevolent on their way into the temple to worship. This was his “spot.” As Peter and John are passing by, he asks them for some money, as he was no doubt asking everyone. At this request, though, Peter doesn’t just throw some coins in his direction and keep moving on, Luke tells us that Peter and John look right at the man, and then command him “Look at us!”
I had always though that Peter was just a bit harsh with this poor man. After all, every indication pointed to his sitting here and begging in this “spot” for some 40 years. Hasn’t he been through enough that he shouldn’t be spoke to in this way?
But what if Peter’s tone isn’t harsh at all? What if it is compassionate? I wonder if 40 years of depending solely on others had robbed this man of his masculinity or even his humanity. I wonder if people often spoke about him like he wasn’t in the room, or to him like he was a baby. I wonder if he was used to people just tossing change in his direction and not giving him a second glance hoping that God might show them some favor for their compassionless act of benevolence. I wonder if Peter wanted him to look in their direction so that he could see the face of someone who genuinely cared about him as a person? Someone who didn’t see him as a burden, but who valued him as a man, and a child of God made in His image.
No matter what you are going through. No matter what setbacks, layoffs, abuses or other traumas you have experienced, I want you to know that you are so much more than your greatest flaws. You are a man or a woman not because of what you can or cannot do, have or have not done, but because God knit you in your mother’s womb and breathed life and His Spirit into your lungs. You are made in His image with more value than you could ever possibly imagine, and though our enemy would want to remind us of our inadequacies, and our shortcomings, he cannot rob you of the Divine image that you bear. So hold you head up. See the good in others, and let them see the good in you!
I was more than blessed to have men and women in my life who met my every need, while still doing everything they could to value my humanity. Though I felt like I was a burden, they assured me over and over again that I was not, reminding me that I would do the same for them if the shoe were on the other foot. I’m so thankful for my wife, Cindy, my mom, Coltyn, Emma, Abbi, Luis and countless others who served me during this time.
I would often lay in bed at night staring at the ceiling wondering if my circumstances would ever change. Then, one night, while battling my usual insomnia, I made a decision. A decision to stop focusing on what I couldn’t do, and start making the most of what I could do. And this decision would make all the difference.
Jeremy Powell 