Promoting Accessibility through Christian Hospitality

A pine is not a spruce, nor is it a fir although they are all conifers, all evergreen. In the gentle hills of southern Poland, surnames were often imbued with descriptive language that would identify a family by occupation, life status, or where they lived. Regional characteristics could impart a vivid description; she's from the marshy area where the song of fire-bellied toads fill the air. But that's a bit long winded, so a more succinct version was applied. Marshy? Toady? You decide.

Long ago, the land's acoustics determined our ancestral surname. It was the sound from a cluster of conifers that resolved our people would be known as those from the land of chirpy crickets. However, as etymology goes, an alternative comes from the hardscape itself: the hill of little spruce trees. Pocket size. Our takeaway is a Pocket Pine Hill.

Just as a spruce is not a pine but both are from the species conifer, we believe the branches of the human species derive from a single family tree. Even so, a diverse family with an even greater diversity of frame.

"The wonder is that we can see these trees and not wonder more." 

--Ralph Waldo Emerson

There is a hint of curiosity about a man who slurs his words and swallows hard after every bite of food. Why, one wonders, do his eyes flit from side to side while he watches the game on TV? And just look at his feet. One drags on the floor, abruptly halts, then suddenly his other leg jerks as that one's foot comes to life. Is he drunk?

It is easier to stay home than risk invoking embarrassment from those who wonder. But we go anyway. Imagine our relief when someone a) offers to hold open a door, b) asks why, or how, or what happened, because really, we want to clarify, and c) offers a kindhearted smile.

This is a journey best begun with eyes of understanding. The first step, or wheelchair spin, involves attunement toward the light at the end of the tunnel. The beautiful thing is that the way inside is alight with hope.

Disability defines us since it affects every aspect of our lives: where we go, when we go (rarely if it's dark or if there's snow and icy weather), how we maneuver through sidewalks, hallways, bathrooms, the shower. Grab bars don't come in decorator's colors.

For our type of malady there is no cure, but somehow, we are healed. The days of impromptu adventures are over since everything requires forethought, devices, medicine, and spacious transportation.

Here's what keeps us going: We believe the best is yet to come. Our mission is founded on one simple demographic. People are living longer than previous generations ever did. This creates an opportunity to honor and assist the disabled person more than we ever could.

It is not always easy to "love your neighbor as you love yourself", but a command to sacrifice for the good of others is never out of touch.

... and chapters four and five and how ever many more days we get. Life is generous in the seconds, stingy in the years. There's routine and then there's celebration. We are determined, although not aways successful, to bless the little things and give thanks to God for the breath that fills our lungs up until it doesn't anymore.

When the wind sings through the Ponderosa Pine trees along our view of Colorado foothills, we are grateful for our faith, our Polish heritage, our sense of adventure, our merciful God, and, yes, our particular brand of disability, spinocerebellar ataxia type 1.

A ministry to the disabled is simple. Everyone deserves the dignity of personhood offered through respect and love. It is respectful to imagine the difficulties each may encounter in the mundane of life and then act to make appropriate changes so everyone feels welcomed and wanted. May you always feel welcomed and wanted. May it always be so.