American President Franklin D. Roosevelt (1882 – 1945) poses with his dog Fala and a young girl named Ruthie Bie (later Ruth Bautista) on the porch at Top Cottage, Hyde Park, New York, February 1941. Bie was the granddaughter of the property caretaker, and the photo is one of only two that show Roosevelt in his wheelchair. (Photo by Margaret Suckley/PhotoQuest/Getty Images)
Life sometimes don’t turn out as we plan. It begins uneventful enough, just as we think it should. No ripples. No bumps in the road. Smooth sailings all the way. Then on a dime, something happens to change the trajectory forever. Joni Eareckson-Tada dove into shallow water and broker her neck, leaving her a quadriplegic. At the height of his popularity, Franklin D. Roosevelt was stricken with polio. When Bethany Hamilton was fourteen, she took her surfboard to catch a few waves and was attacked by a shark, losing her arm.
When tragedy happens, our lives–and faith–can be rocked. How could a loving God let this happen? Why did this have to happen to me?
It isn’t new anymore.
Loss of balance is now the norm. I’ve learned to take a cloth with me so when my hand trails the walls, I won’t leave smudges. When I hand wash dishes, I make sure they’re unbreakable. When I need to remember specifics, I write them down so when I forget them—because I always do—I won’t feel guilty.