FAITH

As a little boy, back in the 1950s, I became very ill. My mom and dad loaded me into the old Chevy and took me to the doctor. A spinal tap determined that I had Poliomyelitis. Following the diagnosis, I spent several terrifying weeks confined to a hospital ward at Kaiser Hospital in Vallejo, California. There I saw other children struggling with the crippling disease. Some were in braces. Some were confined to iron lungs. Some never walked again. Some never left the facility. Some died.

One night, all alone in my room and scared half to death, I remembered one of my favorite books back home. The title of the little children’s book was “Jesus, A Boy’s Friend”. I began praying as only a terrified child can pray. I prayed and cried until I finally fell asleep. Several days later the doctor had good news for my family. My symptoms were gone. They were free to take me home.

As I left the hospital, hand in hand with Mom and Dad that day, I began a path that has led me to this day. Some days my faith is just as strong as the day I left that hospital. Other days, not so much, but from that day to this I’ve set out each day to walk the path I’m given, in the light I’m given. On my very best days, I share that light with others. Each of us walks a different path, revealed in a different light. As a result, we each have different perspectives, different convictions, and varying points of view. We need to show each other a little compassion and cut each other some slack.

I was only four, but I remember well the other kids in the ward with me in the hospital. I remember incubators, braces, buckets of ice, and being haunted for years by the horrific thought of spending my entire life in an iron lung. I remember missing Mom and Dad and praying like I'd never prayed before, from that moment to this day, for anyone who suffers such a fate. I remember when I first got sick, my folks bundling me up in the old Chevy for the two-mile trip to town. I remember Doctor’s Bliss and Elliot and the spinal tap that verified the prognosis. I remember being terrified and held down, and screaming “Daddy, Daddy!” at the top of my lungs, and the sound of a scuffle outside my door as they tried to restrain my father. I remember tugging my cowboy boots on and walking out of that hospital with Mom and Dad. And I remember being very, very thankful. I remember sitting in the bright sunshine back home on Reservoir Hill and pondering the whole experience over and over. And I remember all through school befriending other boys and girls, who walked funny or talked funny, or for whatever reason, didn’t quite fit in. And it warms my heart to this very day when I see folks accepted for who they are.

Shannon Thomas Casebeer