I am More Than My Left Leg That is Missing

On living with a visible disability in a world chasing the miraculous, and what healing looks like for me now.

Around 14-15 years ago I was sitting outside in the crisp Northern CA air sipping a perfect vanilla latte from Starbucks.  

Photo by Clint Patterson on Unsplash

The sky was ablaze with crimson, burnt sienna, and gold.

It was one of the few moments I had alone on that trip and my introvert self was savoring every second.

I saw a group of young adults approaching from the corner of my eye. I was being watched and they were animatedly gesturing in my direction.

Instantly, I knew what was coming next.

Let me fill you in on some context…

I was in Redding, CA for a meeting with the organization I worked with overseas. This organization was partnered with a well-known megachurch movement, then known primarily for its emphasis on healing, the miraculous, and spiritual gifts.

At the time, I was deeply embedded in independent charismatic church culture. While I saw some things as problematic and by no means agreed with everything, it was the world I was in.

There were things I believed at the time. And there were other things I desperately wanted to believe. Sometimes parsing the line between the two was muddy at best.

Also, I have one leg and walk using forearm crutches.  (And was born with myriad of birth defects requiring 23 surgeries by the time I was 13.)

Every time I walked into a church meeting, at least one person would want to pray for my leg to grow back.  I’d usually let them.

Sometimes I’d ask if they could pray for my headache instead. Ya know, priorities.  Headaches can be vicious.

I met lovely people who were genuine in their pursuit of what they believed (and often in part what I also believed at the time.) 

Between you and me, it felt more often than not I had a target on my back and a neon sign over my head. 

I gaslit and chided myself into being gracious to a fault: They’re just learning… it’s not going to hurt you… just let them practice… they have to practice on someone, why not you?  Who knows? Maybe it will work.

But I was wrong. 

It did hurt me. 

It made me doubt being OK in my skin. It stripped confidence in seeing my disability as something with purpose. 

It reduced my lived experience to something to be fixed. It made me feel less than like I was broken.  It fundamentally began to alter the way I saw myself.

And that was before people yelled at me (in tone at least) for not having enough faith and needing “inner healing” so I could “receive” my miracle.

Um, spoiler… I’m not the one praying, bud.

There’s a global ministry school associated with this movement and they are known for a type of street outreach called treasure hunting.

The general idea was a small group of people (often students) would spend time praying together before they go out, "listening for God to guide them on assignment as a group.  

Then, as each person felt they had a “word” or idea from God they’d pool their ideas and figure out what it meant and use it as a treasure map, so to speak. Then they’d set off to find the treasure (the person) they were being led to minister to.

On the surface, it was presented as a fun way to “practice” ministry.

Looking back now, I see so many problems a decade-plus removed. For starters, it gamified and objectified people’s suffering and/or their personhood.  Maybe not intentionally. But still.

As was often the case in this world, I wanted to like the idea. I could see the heart behind it was usually well intentioned.

But I was never fully comfortable with it.  I chalked it up to just not being how I was wired to serve. Give me a cup of coffee and a good conversation ANY day.

It felt invasive. And I was concerned it could come off all too easily as arrogant... Boldly walking up to a complete stranger and declaring an assignment from heaven.

So, when I saw what was clearly a student group out treasure hunting and they locked eyes on me, I inwardly groaned.

They came bounding up with unbridled exuberance and spilled out an excited, chaotic introduction…

Hi… we’re students with such and such school of ministry and have been praying together someone saw the color green and another person saw coffee and another heard God say “he” was healing legs and so we came here to starbucks and saw you and God wants to give you a new leg can we all pray for you.  

I looked into 5 or so shiny faces so eager to put what they were being taught to the test.  

(A brief aside— I’m not upset with them. In a small way, I was glad they found me and not the guy sitting behind me with a cast on his leg, who smartly scurried out of sight. )

It took me years to find the words and the courage to be honest with myself about many of my experiences. 

The truth is I felt hunted, not treasured.

But I said sure.

They gathered round and laid hands on my shoulders and prayed with fervor and abandon.

I sipped my latte and watched the sky change color through the gaps in their circle.

After they were finished, I introduced myself, and suddenly it dawned on a few of them who I was. (For that season of my life, students in this spiritual ecosystem often read my first book.)

I did my best to turn it into a teaching moment…   

• Could there have been any other interpretations or context behind the message they discerned? 

• Was it wise to declare to a complete stranger that God was going to give them a new leg?

• Might it be a better approach to see if the person was comfortable with or even open to their prayers before they declared what they felt God spoke to them?

• Might it be a kindness to ask if there was something specific the person desired prayer for?  (Using the logic of this practice, God could have shown all those things to lead to the person for an entirely different reason apart from healing.  Maybe they needed a warm meal.)

• Could coming on so strong without giving real room for consent actually push people away from experiencing God’s love? 

Thankfully, they did not berate me for my subpar faith.  

But the whole experience sealed the deal for me. 

Hunting people as objects rarely if ever result in them feeling treasured as human beings.

People are not projects to be fixed.

Nor are they objects to be gathered or problems to be solved.

They are not targets to be saved or conversions to be counted.

And to borrow the words of Amy Kenny, my body was not then and is not now not a prayer request.  

I bet for some of you this is a wild story.

If you are unfamiliar with these waters, word of faith and healing theology can be a complicated and convoluted topic.

But let me leave you with the sound-byte version of where I’ve landed in my current understanding of my situation.

We live in a beautiful and at times brutal world. A world that is fragile and broken, strong and stunning all at the same time.

I don’t know why I was born the way that I was. Or have gone through the things that I have.

And over the last decade, I have become OK with not knowing. I’m OK with not understanding. I don’t need to figure it out.

Most days, I’m good with embracing my limits and the reality of being loved. Of whoever lives in love lives in God and God in them.

Some day I shake my fist at the big unknown. Some days I grow weary of the ebbs and flows of pain.

But the thing I do know, is that Love has carried me through every single hard thing I have ever faced. 

There are many places I have been able to stand with one leg, I could have never stood with two.

And I am learning to call the body I live in, with all her array of challenges, whole and loved AS she IS. 

SHE is GOOD.

If I woke up tomorrow with a straight, unfused spine, no pain, perfect hearing, a healed brain, and two legs… I certainly wouldn’t turn it down. But would definitely be weird. 

I’ve never had two legs and probably there would be a learning curve not to trip myself up. I’d be roughly 10 inches taller. Also cool.

Also if the new parts got dropped off with a gift card to go shoe shopping included because let’s be real I don’t save my left shoes as many have told me I should to demonstrate my faith.

I am not against healing. I am not against hope.  I hold onto both every single day with every fiber of my being.

I simply believe healing begins the moment we start to fully live in the moment we are in knowing how profoundly we are loved.  Not chasing a standard of perfection over an always-moving horizon.

And I believe there is no sickness or injury or circumstance that can ever diminish our dignity or take away our belovedness.

You are more than the parts of you that are struggling.

You are more than the things you don’t have.

You are not defined by your worst day— or your best.

You are loved without an if, an and or a but. And I’m so grateful you are here.

All my love- Michele