It was 1985, on a cool damp fall evening, with the typical
chaos abounding in our little blue house nestled under the trees off an old
dirt road in Marbury, Alabama. On one side of the house were the “house
parents” and their 3 children. There were 9 of us on our side of the house, in
a living space of approximately 1000 square feet – with five bedrooms, (2 girls
in each), and our counselor in her own room. All of us shared 1 bathroom that
comfortably accommodated 3 at a time…but of course on nights like this everyone
was trying to do their hair and make-up at once and as expected, there was
plenty of emotion to go around.
I was nineteen and living in a program that was at that
time, set up for troubled young women to help them turn things around before
life’s consequences became any greater. Most of my housemates ranged in age
from 13-16 and had come at the direction of their parents. I on the other hand,
had come from having been in two different institutions at that point, for the
treatment of addiction, as well as mental health and behavioral issues.
For the most part we never left a safe zone radius of: the
house, the fields where we grew much of our own food and the Pastor’s
house/church, (which were under the same
roof). It was a good period in my life, though at the time and on this particular evening, (so early in my residency), it did not
yet seem that way to me. I was still quite angry with the fact that I’d made
such a mess of things, that I was living with a bunch of girls and that my
every waking moment was filled with “God talk”…something I had been and
continued to be resistant to.
All that being said, it was somewhat exhilarating to know
that we were going out to an event, due to the fact that such outings were few
and far between. Finally we were all ready and loaded up, with a mild tension
that lingered among several of us. I can recall staring out at the countryside
as we drove, with my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window and opting
for personal silence on that trip, to instead dwell heavily upon the regret and
guilt I was filled with for having ended up where I was, rather than being in
college like my peers back home had done. Arriving at our destination, (a medium
sized church in Montgomery, AL), we headed to the downstairs where we would be
having fellowship, food, worship and listening to a speaker.
In my recollection of that night’s event, I only remember a
few things: I remember feeling uncomfortable with the amount of people present and
the fact that they were a bunch of “church people” - my anger and self-pity
growing with each passing minute. I
remember the all-consuming thoughts that there was no hope for me and that I
would never measure up to those
people who were all around me and I
remember one significant event that occurred following the music…that I never
saw coming.
I enjoyed the worship time, having always been a lover of
music. The lights were put at a comfortable level and we started with very
upbeat songs, to which everyone clapped and sang – something very different to
me from the traditional “hymn” music and rigid protocol I’d grown up with. It
then transitioned into softer music with very thoughtful lyrics. I noticed that
many people seemed to allow their guard to go down, as they would close their
eyes and raise their hands into the air. I recall being both intrigued with
their willingness to physically make themselves so vulnerable and being
unyielding in my own determination to NOT follow their lead, as I was very much
locked into an instinctual need to never show weakness (even if only perceived). Though enjoying the music, I recall
feelings of self-pity and hopelessness only growing, along with an overwhelming
desire to get up and leave the room…and that
is when it happened.
Just as I visually located the door I would attempt to exit
out of, a man came onto the small stage with a big smile and commanding voice
and began to tell us that we were in for a very special treat. He shared about
the person who would come up next as having been a member of their congregation
since he was a young child and that he was a blessing to everyone who knew him.
He said, “When someone talks to Thomas there are two things that can’t be
avoided: Knowing how MUCH he loves the Lord and the fact that you can NOT walk
away from him without a smile on your face”. Listening, I cynically thought to
myself, (from my stupor of self-loathing),
“Oh great – I get to listen to yet ANOTHER person talk about how perfectly happy their life is because of
God.”
As the pastor began to move left from center stage,
extending his arm outward in introduction, I saw to the right that people were moving
and then observed an electric wheelchair coming up the ramp and onto the stage.
As the occupant of the chair came into view I recall feeling stunned, confused
and a little angry – thinking to myself that “they shouldn’t be making this
poor guy come up there”. In the chair was a young man probably a few years
older than me. He was very thin, with thick glasses and his body was severely
contorted and moving involuntarily, as his neck and head strained to the left.
Another man positioned him at center stage and adjusted the microphone for him,
as Thomas ever so slightly waved the fingers on his left hand at the audience
and smiled. At that point several people began clapping and cheering
“Thomasssss!!!” The lights were dimmed over all of us and one bright light
shown down on Thomas. He pointed one finger towards the side stage and the
music began – Amazing Grace. As he began to sing, it was very difficult to
understand his words…but in short order – that didn’t matter.
Listening to Thomas sing, my mind shifted from an awkward
discomfort of watching someone so severely affected by Cerebral Palsy, to being
overcome at witnessing someone who was not religious, but visibly in love with
God. As Thomas sang he began to openly worship in front of everyone – raising
his hands as best he could, with his eyes closed – smiling – tears flowing down
his face as he sang, “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch
like me – I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind but now I see…”. The
hardness in my heart began breaking with each moment that I watched him – the
pureness and sincere joy and peace of someone who had every right to be angry,
bitter and hopeless. I remember my head dropping as I wept. It felt like
something ran through my body, shoving out the horribleness that had taken up
residency for so long and I experienced my first moment in years of utter peace
and contentment beyond my comprehension. After Thomas sang, his father stood
beside him and read to everyone his son’s story – which was one that had
moments of anger and defeat and how he came to know God and experience change
and purpose.
Certainly there was indeed a purpose – and that night for
sure, I knew that his purpose in part was for me. Though I rode home quietly
with my head against the car window, as I had earlier that evening, I no longer
felt the consuming coldness and isolation I had for so long nurtured, but instead
allowed myself to feel the goodness
that had entered my heart and to ponder all that had happened. Something
changed in me that night: hope replaced hopelessness and willingness replaced obstinateness.
From that day forward all thoughts about leaving the program were gone, and in
the months and years to follow, I would come to personally understand the
mystery of Thomas’s miraculous joy - being ever thankful for that one fall
night so long ago in Montgomery, AL.
©2015-2021 Rebecca Balko
