Wherever I go these days, I seem to see more wheelchair-bound seniors literally being pushed around by able-bodied young people.
Those wheels have not suddenly mushroomed, but my mind now sees them more often, because I think I am a hair’s breadth away from their passengers’ ages.
These seniors have lost their mobility and they are now at the mercy of their pushers. Having written Flying on Broken Wings (Stories of courage in overcoming disability), I know what they are going through.
In fact, I should know better than use the now-viewed-as-negative phrase "wheelchair-bound" since the wheelchair is an enabler, not a binder. But I use it purposely to make a statement.
“I fear being wheelchair-bound,” I thought aloud.
I got two quick responses from two of my sons, said with deadpan irreverence.
Son 3: Mom, by that time you won’t even remember whether you’re sitting down or standing up.
Son 1: Mom, a wheelchair and an ergonomic chair function the same way when you type on your computer keyboard, which is what you do all day.
Son 2 is not around to postulate an argument. He will probably just send me the wheelchair from Pittsburgh.
How paralyzing can it be? It’s enough to shove one to a wheelchair prematurely.
I have to remind myself of the Lord’s reminder to the aged and the aging: Isaiah 46:4, “I will be your God throughout your lifetime—until your hair is white with age. I made you, and I will care for you. I will carry you along and save you.”
Yes, in our twilight years, grace will carry us along—on wheels.