From The Desk of David

He’d say it as if it were no big deal—as if it wasn’t one of the rudest things someone could ever say. He’d say it as if it didn’t matter that the statement would strike me right in one of the most vulnerable places. He’d say it as if I was just supposed to accept the truth and move on. He’d say it as if there was no expectation that tears would be the only possible response to the words. But he said it anyway, and it would feel as if someone had just buried a dagger between my third and fourth intercostal space. And now, I was bleeding.

Once alone, the tears began to flow. And now, it doesn’t really matter what was said or who even said it because what I’d soon find out is that through the words that the enemy meant for pain, God would use to rip open one of my biggest insecurities and start the process of healing it.

Living with a disability can be interesting, and most days, I think my words would fall short in describing what it’s exactly like to live with a disability. But if I had to make my best attempt, I think I would just simply use the word, “courage.” It takes courage to get up in the morning, knowing that what the day has ahead may put you in more pain than you are in now. It takes courage to walk into a grocery store, putting aside that some total stranger will either end up having to help me or end up saying something incredibly patronizing; walking into a grocery store means that someone will stare. It even takes courage to walk into friendships because living with a disability means that you have to be okay with people not understanding what it’s like to walk a mile in your shoes.

Now, this may come off as haughty and vain, but please believe me, it’s not. On most days, grocery stores, church, and anywhere else are no problem. Sure, there are days where it’s frustrating and annoying, but I just do my best and trust that everyone is too. But there is one “scenario” that even after 25 years, I still struggle with…

You can never see it coming, and I suppose that’s the point. It’s just another afternoon, and the room is complete with friends, laughter, and hugs. But then it happens. She walks in. And then she catches your eye. Sure, it’s something physical that catches your eye, but then you see her smile and care for others from afar, and you find yourself wanting to get to know her better. And that’s when it happens. Insecurity reaches up from the depths of your mind, and your mind becomes an echo chamber for one echoing thought—what girl wants a man without arms?

Sure, you try to shake it off and go back to the convocation you were just in, doing everything to show the outside world that you are fine, but little do they know, a war just ignited within. But perhaps war isn’t the best way to describe it; maybe it’s better described as if someone just set off a bomb within, and you find yourself scrambling to put out the flames.

Now, I must explain. It’s not the girl who set off the bomb. It’s not even the words of the man who set off the insecurity landmines. It’s what the statements imply that set them off. You see, when a cute girl walks in and then the thought of “no girl wants a disabled man” comes, and then I’m left to clean up the mess of myself, feeling emasculated and like I don’t measure up as a man. Growing up, I often heard the idea that men are supposed to be strong, and they are, but I was often taught that if you find yourself in a dark alley, surrounded by robbers, a “real man” will be able to fight his way out, and that’s what a woman really wants—the big, strong man. Now before you attempt to argue with my inner self, understand that it’s more than just being able to fight off invisible attackers. Not having arms means that I’ll never be able to play catch with my kids. Not having arms means that I’ll (most likely) never be able to pick up my kids when they are crying and hold them. Not having arms means that many of the things I saw my dad do for us, I won’t be able to do for my family. So again, I ask, what woman wants that?

But then God would meet me in a place and begin to show me that maybe I’ve believed the wrong voice for too long…

You could feel the tension in the room. I was ranting rather feverishly. I was going off about the hurtful words to a man whose smile was tucked behind a large beard and glasses. He sat, rather unmoved by my passions and plainly stared at me, with only a slight glimpse of curiosity in his eyes. Our eyes would suddenly lock, and I realized what I was doing was pointless. He wouldn’t understand—he couldn’t. It’s not his fault, but that still didn’t take the sting out of the realization.

“Are you a Lord of The Rings fan, David?” The man would break the tense silence.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I thought to myself, and my face must have betrayed my thinking because the man across the room would soon offer another question. “Are you familiar with Tolkien’s Character, Aragorn?” He’d offer.

“Sure,” would be my response that I’m certain was filled with a confused annoyance. The man would begin to explain how Aragorn was one of his favorite examples of biblical masculinity and how the character embodied many of the same characteristics of Jesus. Now I know my face at one point finally confessed my original question—what does this have to do with my insecurity of not feeling like I’m “man enough?”

The man, reading my face, would stop himself. He’d smile and then offer, “don’t warriors get hurt in training?” “What?” would be my response with a slight twinge of annoyance within my voice. I didn’t have time for his mind games today or frankly, any of his leading metaphors.

“Don’t warriors get hurt in training, and is it not part of training to get hurt?” He’d offer the question again, defying my annoyed tone.

I’d give him a half-hearted agreement with the sole purpose of trying to beat him to the point.

“And I know you’re going to say that every time I face hard things, it’s just ‘training.’” The last word would be offered with cynicism, “finger quotations,” and a slight eye roll.

“I didn’t say that at all.” The man’s tone had shifted in a way that my attention was shifted all to him. Turning my face back to the man across the room, he’d go on to explain that I’ve been through more in my life than most people ever would and how every morning, the “courage” I have to wake up, show up, and let God use me was an example to so many.

“What would happen if King David ran from Goliath because it was too hard?” 

But before I could respond, he’d shoot off another question, “And what if Daniel bowed to an idol because resisting was too hard?” “What if Jesus decided to abandon the cross because it was too hard?”

“Seems to me like part of being a biblical man is showing up, especially when it’s hard.”

I had no response. And I’m not quite sure I still do. See, I’m not quite sure what to do with this. I don’t entirely understand what this means for me and my own insecurities. But here’s what I do know—at the beginning of 2023, I asked the Lord to show me who He sees me as and to help me adopt the identity He has given me, and if I’m being honest, I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but I also know that He’s faithful to complete everything He starts. So, I’m not entirely sure why I wrote this whole thing—perhaps it was to drag this insecurity into the light. Perhaps it was to let someone know that they aren’t alone in their struggles or insecurities. But I also know that someday, I’ll look back upon these words and see that God is faithful and He moves the mountains I think are impossible to move.

For His Glory, 

David W.