My sister has started the daunting task of writing her memoirs....why, you say....does she have some racey or mysterious things in her past to reveal. No, I don't believe that would be the reason.....I believe it's because of our mother....and our dad, who is gone, and his sister...who was the family historian...who knew everything about every family member, is also gone..before we realized that she was the last, taking all those details, all that history, all that knowledge that validated who we are and just how we came into this family....how did we fit into the puzzle?

So, I'm assuming that she wants to leave this to her family, her children, her grandchildren....so that one day , when they ask, and perhaps sister is no longer there to answer, they will find the answer in her memoirs.....fancy name isn't it....a name to describe our life, our own personal history.

With this in mind, sister asked me about my remembrances in regards to an adventure I had as a child.

Those of you that regularly read this blog....all ten of you...know that I was born with a physical disability....a nice phrase that covers up the one they used when I was born...crippled...it is interesting to follow the evolution of the phrases used for different things over the years....in this case...crippled, to handicapped to physical disability...I'm sure there were others. All very politically correct....but I digress.

My parents had no fore knowledge that I was to be born with any problems...no ultra sounds in those days...and after a difficult, concerning labour I was born with the muscles missing from the upper parts of my arms, ...the biceps completely missing and the deltoid muscles across my shoulders were also lacking...they were there, but not all there....anyways, you can understand why this would have distressed my parents....the lack of biceps meant that I couldn't bend my arms, try it sometimes.....a little tricky to accomplish things....

When I was about three years old, which meant that sister was round six, my mother and father took me on a very long trip....just the three of us....sister went and stayed with our grandparents. We went all the way to Detroit.....it would be about a four hour drive...doesn't seem long now but in the early 1950's it seemed far. They were taking me to a healing crusade....an Oral Roberts healing crusade. I don't have a lot of recollections of this time but I have some....some that sister wanted to know....so, it got me thinking.....a lot of my childhood memories that involved my arms, I try not to dwell on....I guess it's how I got thru the four surgeries, the countless physical therapies, the doctors, and more doctors....

So, I've spent some time these days just thinking on it all....maybe this is good...maybe, somebody will want to know when I'm gone...maybe, maybe not.

I remember that we stayed in a hotel....I remember not having much to do and my mom giving me the hotel stationary,...yes, they actually had stationary back then....telling me to write a letter to my sister, back home...so, I did...as any three year old might....if you saw it today, it would look like a lot of wavy lines but to me they were my words....I knew exactly what that letter said.

I remember a huge tent that apparently Oral Roberts used, it held 3000 people.....I don't know how long we were there but it must have been over a weekend, for a few days. That's why we had to stay in the hotel. I know my mom and dad and I stood in a long line, waiting for Oral Roberts to come down the line to see us. I remember my dad holding me in his arms...I remember him coming, I remember he had a loud voice, I remember him putting his hands on my forehead....praying...saying that I was healed....but I wasn't.

The last few days have caused me to think about my mom and dad....they were pretty young...in their late twenties....they didn't have much money...my dad worked as a welder for a factory....it was called the coke ovens...not the coke the kids are so fond of...to drink or sniff...in fact, about four years earlier my dad had fallen off a bridge at work, thirty feet and broke his back in three places, my mom and dad were hard workers, money was always tight...never enough to go around....so, for them to take me to Detroit, hoping I'd be healed was a big deal...no, it was huge! They willing sacrificed.

My mom and dad wanted their little girl to be healed,....they were looking for a miracle......it would be interesting to know what their feelings were on that long ride home....they must have been disappointed....they must have been sad....did they watch me carefully the next few days...hoping that it had worked? I don't know....my dad is gone...cant ask him, my mom, probably can't remember...although maybe I'll try asking her....they certainly weren't bitter, they didn't walk away from God....

The apostle Paul asked many times for his affliction to be removed but it never was.....did he walk away from God...no, he accepted that God had different plans....I think my mom and dad did too...oh, they didn't stop looking for help for me....like I said , four surgeries.....the first two didn't work either...the second two were just to fuse my wrist bones to stop the hands from turning under....

My parents were pretty special people, people of faith....strong faith....and I think that's a pretty good heritage...pretty good thing to remember...hope my kids remember it too.


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Location:The Healer