From the Editor: this is from our Lenten Transformation Stories series
By Dianne L.
2001 was a black year for us. In June, Jim sustained a spinal cord injury that was to keep him paralyzed from the neck down for a month and in the hospital for two months. We were told he would probably be able to walk with braces, and had a 50% chance of regaining use of his arms. Both sets of parents came to stay with the kids so I could continue to work and be with Jim. I took a job offer with more secure money leaving the job I had been in for nine years. Meanwhile, my father was in the last stages of his prostate cancer. He pushed himself to give our kids a normal summer–the lake house, and then, with difficulty at the end of August to Rebecca’s 7th birthday party. He went into the hospital two days after 9/11 and died in hospice care September 24. Jim took off his neck brace for the first time in almost 5 months to attend his funeral.
By October I knew my immediate family was going to survive our ordeal, but realized that I needed something bigger than myself or my family to help me through the aftershocks. I had avoided church for many years after being disillusioned at the difference between what was preached and practiced. Earlier in the year an acquaintance had told me if I ever felt like I could enter another church, I should try hers–it was different. So in October I came and sat in the back pew of UCCH and tried to be invisible. It worked for one week. The next week, one person introduced themselves. The third week, two more.. The fourth week, I had the courage to write my name and number in the pewbook. That week, you made a follow up call to me. By Christmas, I brought the girls to services. The girls iced cookies and were treated like long time members. At some point, someone introduced himself and said “I need another usher–you look like someone who could do that.” By the end of spring, the girls were coming with me regularly and beginning their belated journeys into a life with a church.
That was almost 7 years ago. Since that time, the church has grown in numbers and size. And as much as my story sounds like it’s about my family’s bad year, I tell it to remind myself of the healing power of one voice to another person. To remind myself to make the effort to recognize new faces and be inclusive. Because you may never know the difference a sentence can make–this church is different, someone said. Or that an introduction can make someone vulnerable feel included. That a phone call from a pastor can make someone decide to keep coming. That an invitation to give something back allows someone to become whole. And as our building and congregation continues to grow, I offer this story and invite us all to remember, and use, the power of one voice.