Saved from Myself by the Golf Cart Man

Seated on a fancy, cloth covered bench, waiting to meet with an editor, I realized my sheer outer layer shirt was on in-side-out.  Skipping morning coffee had proved a dire mistake. After looking both ways, I remedied the situation. But I knew I was in trouble. 

Nestled on a hillside outside of Asheville, NC, the Ridgecrest Conference Center hosts the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian WritersConference every May. After a seven year hiatus from attending, I packed my bags - and my shiny red Rollator walker - and drove north.  

Mr. Lawson (aka: the golf cart man) stood from a rocker on the front porch of the registration building and met me as I piled my luggage onto the seat of my walker. 

"Can I help you?" he asked. 

My body stiffened. "Oh, I'm OK," I replied with a sweet southern smile, disguising my angst.

"Are you sure?" he insisted.

Tangled with emotion but knowing I'd face another round trip without his aid, I acquiesced. 

"Well, no," I admitted. 

As he followed behind with my bags I learned that he and his wife drove from Florida to volunteer at the conference. They were there to help people like me if I could just let go of my pride.

But as I explained to a few conferees, at home I disguise my limitations well. Or at least I like to think so. I avoid grocery and Wall-Mart sized stores as much as possible. I maintain a schedule that allows for rest and quiet. And I take naps when I can and cook and clean less than is optimal. 

When I live within my limits and my hair is curled, I look like a normal 45 year old mom just living life. But when I leave town and my walker becomes a necessity, my insides twirl. Facing my disability head on stirs a feeling of vulnerability I dislike.

But as I left dinner that first night and headed towards the group meeting, I learned that our twice daily gatherings took place in a new building up the hill, farther away than expected. I honestly didn't think I'd make it through the week. Yet when Mr. Lawson found me after the meeting and offered a ride to my room, I brushed him off, "No, I'm OK. Thanks anyway."

Why? Who knows.

I definitely have an independent streak. But more than that, I just wanted to walk through the evening breeze back to my room like everyone else. I wanted to be normal.

But I'm not.

The reality hit home the next morning when I realized my shirt was on inside out. 

I located the coffee shop soon after and took two naps before the days end. And in time I succumbed to the sincere offers from Mr. Lawson and his wife who found me after every group meeting and offered me ride back to my room. My willful spirit melted and we even set times for them to pick me and drive me to classes and meals. 

Their kind persistence saved me from myself.

Me and Mr. Larson after my last golf cart escort.

My son and his wife were staying with us when I got home. Knowing how big the week had been, Courtney commented, "You're not nearly as tired as I thought you would be."

"It's because of the golf cart man," I replied. "He and his wife saved me the last two days and made me realize I'll function better if I ask for help from day one next time."

So while I met some great authors last week that have encouraged me on many levels, I'm mostly grateful for Mr. and Mrs. Lawson.

For while it's true that in our weakness the Almighty is very strong, when I admit that weakness and lean on equipment and others for help, I'm stronger still. 

He, the Almighty, strengthens my spirit. His helpers on earth help keep my body strong. No doubt, I need a combination of both.

 photo credit: Lost-in-kop illustration via photopin (license)