How many of my readers with chronic illness and/or disability who go to church have been told, “I’ll pray for your healing, honey”? After they say, “Bless your heart, darlin’, “do they ever offer everything they’ve been told about any illness that might come close to yours as a potential cure? Never mind that you’re under the care of at least one doctor, maybe a whole team of them. Your friend’s uncle’s second cousin MUST have the correct answer that will bring healing to you.
“And honey, have you been looking for a job?” Never mind the fact that I live with a chronic fatigue that affects me cognitively and physically and that I have never learned to drive AND that the area I live in doesn’t have good public transportation. The Powers that Be MUST know better than I do that “my disability has ended.” What job can I do if I can’t get there consistently? Even my local Vocational Rehabilitation Department threw up their hands. They didn’t offer me vouchers for taxi services or disabled transportation. Yes, there should be some kind of work that I could do at home. I care for two dogs when I’m at home that can’t be trusted to add their two cents to any transaction within their hearing. It is what it is. To do most kinds of at-home work, I would have to have a reliably quiet workspace.
Oh, and if I actually figured out how to get some kind of part-time work, that probably wasn’t even worth leaving home for in the first place, I’d have to keep close watch on the amount of money I made not to exceed SGA (Substantial Gainful Activity), because that will trigger possible overpayments and use trial work periods up, so that you are on your own trying to make it work.
But oh, my. In spite of myself, I will find some way to contribute. If I can’t contribute, there’s just no reason to keep trying. And I have to keep trying. I may not be able to choose joy every day, with what I live; but I can choose to keep going on each day.
Finding Our Voices Together 