Serendipity or Divine Intervention?

Five years ago, I met a woman who would change my life.  I was sitting in the window seat on a plane bound for home from Dallas, Texas.  I'd been there on a work trip, having some new "skins" made for my prosthesis, so I had work on my mind.  More importantly, I had summer camp on my mind and how I was going to make it a part of my work from here on out.

A few months prior, I had been contacted by a hand therapist in Maine named Mary Leighton.  She was in her second year of a camp she'd started for kids with limb differences and their families and had got my name through the upper limb prosthetists that I work with.  I told her I'd love to come out and help in any way that I could.

When I arrived at camp, I was in awe.  The beach by the pond was littered with prosthetic limbs, and all of the kids (all missing something) were screaming and splashing in the water without a single care in the world.  When I was a kid, summer camp was all about high stress and anxiety.  Although I loved the week away, I was never sure if the kids would accept my hook, if they'd be scared of me, mean to me, etc.  I always felt alone and never saw anyone else, except for at Shrine Prosthetic Clinic, that was missing an arm. 

Even at the Shrine, though, I never interacted with the other kids, partly because I didn't want the attention that I thought two handicapped kids together might bring.  Furthermore, I was always looking for adults that were missing arms and I could never find any.  Naturally, in my little child mind, I deduced that people who were born without arms must not live very long.  As I was approaching my 12th birthday, I was getting increasingly nervous, "knowing" I probably didn't have much time left.

Walking into Camp No Limits was cathartic.  I wished that there had been a place for me like this when I was young.  My official job at camp was running the support group sessions with the kids and then with the parents.  I had never run a session, or even attended a support group, but I figured we'd have plenty to talk about. 

One evening, the kids and I sat in the grass by the water as the sun was setting and shared stories that only we would know.  Stories of being called names, of not being picked for the teams because our peers didn't think we were capable of helping the team to victory with all of our obvious imperfections.  The kids shared tears as they explained how they kept their pain inside and tried to be brave, but how sometimes, the sadness of being so physically different than everyone else was more than they could take.  These kids were me, twenty years ago, and here they were all together with one other, sharing the gift of being just like everybody else, even though it was only for four days.

The confidence in these kids grew daily with each new experience and each new challenge conquered, as we worked together to uniquely solve our problems.  Our problems?  How can I tie my shoes with my hand and my prosthesis?  How can I put my hair in a ponytail like the other girls?  How can I ever ride a bike like the other kids with this prosthetic leg?  Guess what?  We figured these and all of our other challenges out.  In fact, on talent night, one of my little gals that I'd been working with stood before her new friends and their families and to the sound of a drum roll (all of us patting out hands on our laps) she put her hair up in a rubber band for the first time ever!  She got a standing ovation, and I got a new mission in my life: help spread Camp No Limits across the country.

I was consumed in this though when a nice looking lady sat in the isle seat next to me on the plane.  "Hello," she said kindly. 

"Hello," I replied.  "Heading home?"

"Yes," she said.  With that, we began talking about home, work, life, etc.  She was so easy to talk to and I really didn't want to stop.  There was this aura of peace and kindness around her and I felt like she was genuinely interested in everything I said.

"What do you do for work?" she asked.

I started in telling her that I was an upper limb consultant in the prosthetics field, but my focus quickly shifted to camp.  "I love what I do, but I really want to do something more," I said.  I told her all about camp in Maine and what a tremendous impact it had on me.  "I don't know how I'm going to do it," I said, "But somehow, someway, I'm going to start a camp in the Northwest.  I don't know where to start, I don't know where to find funding, I don't know who to call, but it's next on my list.  I gotta do this." 

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and realized I'd been going on and on about all of my amazing experiences I had in Maine for quite some time.  "What is it that you do?" I asked.

"I'm a director of a camp on Coeur d' Alene Lake with the Episcopal Diocese," she said, and a very warm and knowing smile spread across her face.

Even just sitting here thinking about that encounter makes my eyes tear up with disbelief.  That summer, Evita and I became good friends and in September, the first Camp No Limits Northwest was set in motion.  Every year since, we've had kids and their families attend and we've all been changed forever. 

I consider Evita one of the most important people to have come along in my life and I know that it was not by accident.   We may go long stretches without seeing each other, but I can easily pick up right where we left off and feel right at home in her presence.  She exudes spirituality; but it's not preachy and it's not forced.  She's like a magnet of mystical knowledge that I'm drawn to.

If you know me, you know I'm very skeptical of organized religion, yet the Episcopal Church houses a group that I think would suit me.  Liberal Christians believe that homosexuality, heterosexuality and bi-sexuality are morally neutral.  The real sin is homophobia and exclusion.  This is obviously a premise that I can support, especially in light of Davis and Chester's dad telling them that the Bible says that "what [I'm] doing is WRONG."  When this came up, I wished I had the knowledge of the Bible to be able to refute that sentiment.  And then, just when I needed her, I ran into Evita again.

It was probably just over two weeks ago that we bumped into each other. It's funny because when I was sending out invitations to view this blog, her address popped up in my book, but I thought it would be so random and out of the blue to send it to her, that it might be strange.  It was something that I wanted to share with her though, so the universe, or the fates, or God brought us together. 

Of course, she was supportive and at the same time sad, to know the kind of turmoil my children were experiencing.  I asked her if she'd be willing to share her knowledge of God with us, since my boys call themselves Christians.  I want them to see another part of the Bible that they're not being taught.  If they can see and feel and hear the words, maybe they'll be more "Christian-like" or at least get a better understanding of what that means. 

I can hardly wait for 3:00pm. I will pick my sons up from school and take them to beautiful Saint John's Cathedral to listen to my friend Evita and feel the presence of God.   Today, Evita, my angel, gets to change our lives again.