Working at a library is like storm watching in West Texas. You wait and wait and wait for things to happen, and suddenly a thunderstorm pops up out of nowhere and you go from relaxed to "go mode" in a split second. Well, that's exactly what happened last Friday. And, at the center of my mini-thunderstorm was my husband.
It had been a deceptively quiet day, a few patrons in and out checking out books, but nothing of great consequence. A fellow student came in to discuss planning for the Justice in Action committee. No big deal, seeing as we had no more than 5 patrons in the entire building. Then, in walks the Dean of Perkins with a group of 40 scholars and visitors on campus for some very important Dean-related event. In the midst of the Dean's tour, the buzzer goes off at the north door and there sits my husband, waiting for us to unlock the door. As I sit at the computer buzzing him in, I watch in the camera as Justin goes to open the door, an action he does for himself almost every day. But this time, Justin has an ill-timed palsy moment that, instead of leading his chair through the door, sends him crashing into the corner of a brick wall. Panicked, I run from the front desk, throw open the north door, and in the process trip the alarm. At this point, nothing can be done but hold open the door and help Justin get inside. As I help Justin get to the front desk, here's the Dean's group dealing with the blaring of the alarm, Justin holding one side of his face and me trying to navigate us through the confused crowd of 40 visitors.
Seeing as one of my goals growing up was to be very quiet and put as little attention on myself as possible, you can imagine that even at the ripe old age of 25, I was incredibly embarassed by this sudden commotion centered on none other than me and my husband. I've come a long way, but blaring alarms, bruised faces and staring from 40+ people is more than my introverted self could bear. And you know what my instinctual response was? To apologize. To apologize for myself and for my husband. But, thanks be to God, before I could grovel at the feet of my supervisor for creating such a racket, something stopped me.
You see, there was a time when I would have apologized for sneezing too loud because I saw myself as a disruption to other people. As I grew more into myself and a realization of my identity in God, I came to understand (very slowly, I might add) that this gives no credit to the worth that God places in me as a child of the King. Yet, this need to apologize whenever I might even slightly disturb someone else returned when Justin and I started dating, and fully blossomed after our wedding. Because, let's face it, a man in an electric wheelchair dating, much less marrying, an able-bodied woman disturbs a lot of people's sensibilities. Thus, the many questions I would get concerning whether I was Justin's sister/nurse/physical therapist. So, any time Justin got in someone's way or made people push in their chairs to let him get by or knocked over a display in a store (and trust me, he never runs into displays with soft, fluffy things), I would feel this need to apologize effusively. Never mind that the person was talking on a cell phone and ran into Justin because he wasn't paying attention; or that restaurants stuff so many tables in a room without every giving a thought to someone needing mobility assistance; or that middle of the walkway displays leave very little room for a wheelchair to get by. There was a feeling that because we were the different ones, our presence--much less the commotion it caused--needed to be explained and excused.
As I study disability theology and speak with others with disabilities, I have gained the courage to stop this excessive need to apologize. Justin has a palsy; things are going to happen. I will apologize and help when those mishaps make someone else work harder, but I will not apologize for Justin's physical condition. I will not apologize for being different. So, even though I wanted to melt into the floor as we passed the Dean and his visitors, I did not apologize for my husband's presence. These are the little mishaps I live with every day, and if Justin and the life we have together are ever going to be seen as anything but an anomaly, then it's time to stop apologizing for the disability. Justin is who he is in the fullness of who God created him to be, disability and all. For that, there is no apology necessary.
DISCLAIMER: There were no husbands seriously hurt in this story, only slight bruises to the face and to the ego.
No comments:
Post a Comment