I wanted to send you one of the stories that I had written. The woman in the background is my grandmother teaching me to walk. I have cerebral palsy. God has been good to me. He gave me my grandmother. He gave me many people to help me including but not limited to Lions Club doctors. I hope you like the story because it's true. It's how my grandmother taught me to walk.
"The Quarter"
The doctor came into the room. It was filled with poor but honest people, who couldn't afford services by a "real" doctor. He was donating his time to the local Lions Club. Beside each adult in the room sat a child. Some were smiling, some scurrying, some crying, like all children do. He thought of each child as a crippled angel. He knew, at least, that some of them had more angels than normal surrounding them. Each child today had cerebral palsy.
Cerebral palsy was caused by a lack of oxygen to the brain. There was no rhyme or reason as to what part of the brain the lack of oxygen would affect. Some were retarded, whatever that meant. He had met some adults here that had acted far more ignorantly and far less lovingly. Some had dwarfed limbs. The next case was like that. He had to tell a poor grandmother that she had to buy an expensive set of parallel bars in order to teach this tiny grandchild to walk.
He (Doc) had known this grandmother a long time. She kind of reminded him of a turtle. She was wrinkled with a hard shell. She was very slow but had a soft center. This time grandma had brought the young mother with her. He admired this couple that was even poorer than the grandmother. Many times a couple would break up upon having a child with cerebral palsy.
"Grandma Bea, you need to buy this little fellow a set of parallelbars." She pointed two old fingers at the young doctor. Her fingers were wrinkled and yellow from Prince Albert tobacco stains. "Young fellow, I don't where we'll get the money, but I'll teach him to walk somehow."
Grandma Bea lived in a three-room house with no plumbing. There was more love and stubborn determination in that house than any other house in town. The thought of a set of parallel bars was a financial impossibility.
Just up the hill from the house was an old cemetery. One evening, as the sun was thinking about going to sleep, Grandma Bea gathered up the young boy in her arms. She carried him up the hill to the grave of a rich man. Around the plot, the rich man's family had placed a double set of water pipes. Grandma placed the young boy at one end. She stood at the other. "Come on, son," she coaxed. "I can't, Grandma. It hurts." The boy had never seen a look of defeat in Grandma's eye. He saw it for the first time that day. Then suddenly, her eyes brightened. Around her neck she carried a brownish-white yellow string Prince Albert pouch. From that bag she pulled a shiny quarter. "Come on, son," she said. "I have a prize waiting for you. I know it's hard, but don't give up." The boy knew what a quarter was. Slowly and painfully he took his first few steps. The knee high braces that he wore would sometimes get too close together and lock. Every few steps Grandma would come and unlock them, fighting the temptation to pick him up, letting him experience the pain for his own good. There were many days like that, but each day got easier.The boy is now a man himself. He still can't run but he manages pretty well with a cane. Grandma lies not too far from where she taught him to walk. Some days the days get hard and life hurts. It seems he can almost hear her standing at the Pearly Gates saying, "Come on, son, you can do it. I have a prize waiting for you." I sometimes think she fights the temptation to send the angels to pick me up and take me home. She lets me endure the pain for my own good.
That's how my grandmother taught me to walk. Don't give up your Christian walk. There's a prize waiting for you.
Cliff
