Just a girl and a swing…

As a little girl, I always loved to swing. When I was six, we moved to Pittsburgh into a large farmhouse with 3.5 beautiful acres with a creek and tree filled woods running through the property. Knowing my love of swinging, my dad searched our property and found the perfect tree to hang a swing for me. It was a simple board with two ropes but it was hung over a hill so it felt like you were flying when for brief seconds, you could no longer see the ground.

This wooden tree swing held by rope was my personal sanctuary. Pumping my little legs as a small girl, I loved the exhilaration of flying over the hill higher and higher. As I grew, I could be found immersed in a chapter book as I gently pumped the swing holding onto both the ropes and my book. Becoming a teenager, I would swing as I dreamed about boys and my future. And that old wooden swing gave me a respite from research papers and exams when I came home from college for a break.

My old wooden swing was there for me when I needed alone time to cry tears of sadness, anger, and hurt; held me when I felt anxious, worried, or depressed; soared me through the air as I laughed, day dreamed, or played with friends; and glided me over the hill when a certain boy came to visit and pushed me on the swing as we flirted with one another. (And yes, I am talking about my husband.)

The day I came home for a visit as an adult and found that swing gone was a sad day. With the wood and rope rotting, my dad cut my long time friend down. I felt silly grieving over the loss of a board and some rope. But the truth of my sorrow was deeper than a swing.

I had recently become a paraplegic and it was the loss of my legs I was actually grieving. The reality of paralysis hit me as I realized I could never swing again. My legs could no longer pump back and forth to allow me the simple pleasure of swinging. I could not walk through the woods. Wade in the creek. Play kickball in the yard. Run. Dance. Jump. Swim. Skip. Or even stand. That part of my life had changed.

And I believe I have completely adapted to life in a wheelchair, but whenever I am asked what I miss the most about being paralyzed, I never hesitate and immediately reply, “Swinging.”

Recently I shared my sorrow over no longer being able to swing with a group of precious, dear friends. These girls wanted to fulfill my dream of swinging again. We went to Delaware together for a few days and stayed in a cozy cottage along the bay of the Atlantic Ocean. And along the bay, in the sand, were porch swings overlooking the sun glazed water.

These beautiful, Godly women helped me transfer from my wheelchair onto two of these swings and gave me the gift of moving without my wheelchair. God placed an occupational therapist (Debi) in our little group and she was determined to figure out the best way to make my dream a reality. And she cried when I began to swing.

As a paraplegic, I can only go from A to B with the aid of a 400 pound power wheelchair. And I am so thankful for my chair. But I am also so tired of my chair. So to swing in the air, without my metal legs, gave me a sense of freedom and delight that is hard to put into words. Unless you’ve spent every day for 31 1/2 years relying on a machine to move, it is hard to explain the joy of the simple action of swinging.

I didn’t feel it but my feet slid through the sand as I gently swayed with the beauty of God’s creation surrounding me. The breeze caressed my face, the sun warmed my back, the water softly lapped along the shore, the birds sang in the trees, and squirrels tossed nuts out of trees onto the ground. What a perfect setting for my return to a long time love.

But even more blissful than the euphoria of swinging was the blessing of friendship. Friends that help fulfill a dream. Friends that see your heart. Hear your longings. Laugh in your delight. Cry over your sorrows. Carry your burdens. Rejoice in your joy. Walk alongside you. Love you. Care for you. And pray for you and with you.

I have the honor to be a member of a God given community of women (we call ourselves Seal Team 9), and this group has shown me the beauty of a body of believers and what the church should look like.

Thank you, my giving, serving and compassionate girls, for loving all of me, all the messy, ugly, beautiful, and real parts of me. Always know I love you back. ❤️

Also I want to give a shout out to the friends who willingly helped with my mom so I could get away and relax for a few days. Thank you Jen, Jean, and Cherylann for your help. You are treasures. Also thank you Pam and Mari for your help throughout the last few months.

Thank you Jesus for friends. Angola by the Bay. And a swing.