We hope you enjoy guest preachers, like Edgwater member Sara, who’ve committed to sharing throughout our sermon series ‘Disabled Jesus, Disabled Love.’ Disabled leaders, thinkers, and advocates have always been at the heart of Christian communities. In the US, one in four people live with a disability. Yet our faith has a long history of teaching about our bodies & needs in ways that hurt, limit and erase. Join us as we learn from and consider the experiences of disabled leaders in our communities to better understand how we might begin to create access for one another, build community, and live into the belovedness of our bodies
CONTENT WARNING: mature language is used. A script of Sara’s testimony is below.
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Water into Wine, by Sara Miller
It’s buried deep in my DNA, so deep no one knows where,
Less like sunken treasure and more like the loch ness monster
Every morning I wake to learn I’ve lost in an altercation with my sheets
As my joints slide and creek
A body that's held together by dollar store white glue
Every thought trudges through jello
Only for words to get lost in the fog
My heart murmurs a daily marathon
Running from a bear that’s not there
A wave pool in my stomach
And a strong aversion to gravity.
All that’s left is fatigue, a fancy name for the tired that lives in my bones
My body is trying to kill me and keep me alive
It’s killing me to stay alive
But that’s just on the inside
Hidden behind a river of smiles
And an overflowing well of “fine”
An elderly man looks up at me to say
You’re too young to be here
And all the eyes in the room on me seem to agree
More offices, ERs, and lab draws
But doctors don’t learn about me in medical school
So it must be all in my head
Or this magic catch-all cup they call anxiety
Except the real anxiety comes when they don’t know how to help
You don’t *look* disabled
So I fill out all the forms
To make sure my medical history is listed with the court cases
As an easy to access public record
Drowning consent just to simply show up as me
I’m rolling down the hallway in my wheelchair, all eyes are on me
They move out of my way, a parting of the Red Sea
Not like I’m a celebrity but as if to flee a plague of disease
They stare ready to investigate
What part of me is broken
I hate it when they speak
What happened to your legs?
You’re such an inspiration
But then, I stand up, and I’ve walked on water
It’s a miracle the self-appointed saviors say
And suddenly, I’m invisible again
Except nothing really changed from that moment to the last
Or from this moment to the next
When the pandemic hits and they decide that I’m expendable
I thought a minute ago I was a miracle
I guess I’m not the miracle they wanted
People always talk about coming out like its a one-time thing
As if it’s not a revolving door of ocean waves in a storm
Knocking you down again and again and again before you can catch your breath
Swallowing gulps of saltwater and everyone’s opinions
About how I should be both seen and unseen
Some days I want to be invisible
No matter how much it might cost
Not having to field all the questions
Or to stare down the barrel of pity
Or answer to the face of confusion
Yet, the trickle of doubt about my own existence
Has become a roaring river of reminders
That my body doesn’t belong here
I don’t want to be that miracle, attaching God’s name
Only when I’m socially acceptable
To imagine my body with inspirational value
Only because you can’t imagine living in it
Gallons of drunken and delicious
Fermented, prohibited, liberated
Filled to the brim of vessel of being
Obscene oceans coursing through me
Where the last shall be first and the first shall be last
What a miracle my body is
For showing up just the way it is
What a miracle my body is
To fight through the bullshit and win
What a miracle my body is
Without producing something to call worth it
And in all the moments in between
In the moments it looks the part
And in the moments it says screw the fucking part
In the moments it keeps me alive
And in the moments it tries to kill me
I belong in places that I am seen and unseen