There is something about the finality of a journey that makes the intentions become that much more difficult to process. The flood of emotion and wonderment. The confusion of a time in flux. The rush and anxiety of squeezing out every last drop of experience.
When I decided to join the Journey of Hope, I had an idea of what I would be involved in. I was to ride across the country and I was to spend my free time working with those less fortunate than I.
What I found was that my sacrifice was secondary to the successes of those I have met. There are too many to mention in any one blog, and many are too incredible for words to capture.
Over the last few days I've met many.
Dillon in Pittsburgh, a young guy with Cerebral Palsy who is both non-verbal and essentially non-motive. I took him out of his power chair and strapped him into his tricycle. Moments later we were flying around the parking lot, him outstretching his hand for high fives to the other riders. After a few laps playing nice, he started to quickly pull his hand away from those reaching for high-fives. Psych! Initially it seemed the only way Dillon and I could communicate was through blinking - once for yes, two for no. I found I was horribly mistaken.
Then Stephanie and Rusty in Niles, Ohio. Stephanie was non-motive and non-verbal, but when the music came on she began to rock in her power chair, so much so that her socks started to come off her feet. Without her feet touching the floor she rocked so hard to knock her socks off. Rusty was an older man with a developmental disorder who found it hilarious to pretend to kill everyone on the dancefloor secret agent style. As he shot us with hundreds of imaginary arrows and bullets and threw grenades and spears from across the room, we dropped to the floor like flies. Meanwhile, Rusty would never take a hit. I had a laugh attack. I haven't had good, clean fun like that since elementary school.
I think of Mark and Allie, two that I met our second day in Pittsburgh at a center that serves people with a variety of disabilities, including cerebral palsy and traumatic brain injuries. Mark was a man who was attending the University of Pittsburgh for a degree in music when he had a major car accident. After losing much of his eyesight as well as the function of significant portion of his brain, he still plays, and his hoping to get his old band back together someday. Allie has cerebral palsy, and loves fried chicken. She hopes to keep in touch.
Then Gabi and Joe and Ben and Sarah, who I met in Northbrook. All incredible paralympic and special olympic athletes. Gabi, in particular, who's mother said that dancing with her made her feel like a normal girl again. And Joe, for his incredible energy and love of the water. We had an incredible few legs of a swim relay together. See here.
All of these will have to be described in greater detail when I can finally have some real time to myself. My goal one day is to flesh the trip out day by day, to always remember the people I have met. But that is besides the point.
More and more I feel myself coming closer to tears. Sometimes I feel them coming, but it could just be the wind in my face. I have been immensely humbled by what I have seen, heard, and felt. Particularly so by those who give their time so selflessly in the care of others. I think of Bob, Stephanie's ambulette driver who cried as he watched us dance with the boys and girls in Ohio. His words and the shimmer of emotion in his eyes will always stay with me. "Whenever I have a bad day... or maybe try to complain about how long I've been working, I think of those I work with. And immediately I stop myself."
I think of a man I just met in Uniontown, PA, who told me something he had heard from a preacher. I will never forget it.
"There are only two things that will lead to unhappiness in life. The first is to compare yourself to those that have more than you. The second is to always ask "What's in it for me?" when an opportunity arises to service others."
To that end, I think of Kim in Kalamazoo and her help in getting our van, freshly out of gas, up and running again.
This trip is difficult to put into words. It is difficult to describe to those who only see it through pictures... because pictures can only say part of the story. Just as language only gives us part of communication. Or legs are only a part of motion. Or roads are only a part of traveling. The journey continually asks us to approach the world from a new lens. To immerse ourselves in possibility and ability as opposed to the things society takes as the status quo. To ask ourselves, "What the world could be like?" versus what it currently is.
---
Today we rode by Fort Necessity. A fort perched on a mountaintop hamlet in the Appalachians of southern Pennsylvania. It is of particular importance to the Revolutionary War as well as the founding of our country. There, on July 3rd, 1754, George Washington surrendered. George Washington's only military surrender in his lifetime.
At the time, Lieutenant Colonel George Washington was 22 years old. At 22, George Washington recorded his only military loss of his lifetime.
But surrender is not failure. Failure would be the loss of his entire army. Surrender, instead, is a calculated loss, one that is both justifiable and methodical. To surrender is a display of patience and maturity.
Over 250 years later, I sit here, 22 with the world ahead of me. Each day of the summer has been a sacrifice, each day another test. And, in a sense, I myself feel one with 22-year-old George. While I have not surrendered to the ride, I have surrendered my emotions of the past. I can't conquer it all. I can't always be a perfect leader. To that vain, I have worked to continually improve my patience. To improve my maturity. To improve my capacity for empathy and sympathy. To improve as a man.
Fort Necessity was a necessity. A humbling experience to a man who would later become one of the greatest men in history. The Journey of Hope has begun to reach that level for me.
---
With only a few short days left, I am beyond excited for what's to come. I've been reflecting continually on this summer - the trials and tribulations and the incredible experiences. I've seen places and most importantly met incredible people, their confidence and determination and personality overcoming obstacles I never even dreamed of confronting. I know the Journey is much greater than the miles. It really is the hope - what it brings to everyone we meet, as well as ourselves. I'll never complain about life again.
Sincerely,
Scott Martin
No comments:
Post a Comment