Proof

People are always saying they want proof of God’s existence. And I say – to myself or anyone listening – here it is: I am proof…

How else could a cripple (primary progressive multiple sclerosis [PPMS]) alone, make it through a day or night without God?

When you have faith, which is believing without “proof”, and you pray, continually. When there’s nobody else there but you know you are talking to someone and that someone is always responding. When you see yourself doing things that could never be done without supernatural strength… Then you are living proof. And you thank God and wish everyone could share your witness.

Last night was a perfect example of what I mean… Picture it: adult son comes in after day at work, makes evening meal for Mum, feeds the dog, then goes off to friend’s house where he lives.

Mum (your’s truly, the ‘cripple’) moans a bit about being left alone – first to the son, then to the dog (toy poodle – good listeners!) and finally, if not simultaneously, to Jesus – then puts on brave face - and the television - and tries to get on with it…

All seems to be going well (but bear in mind that, although there could be “carers” popping in all day, there haven’t been because, along with many others, this MSer prefers to be alone…ergo, the legs are in a lot of pain at this point) but we need for there not to be a crisis. [Note: this is a house where there have been three power-cuts already this year and, every year sees myriad spiders!] …

Then at 1.30 a.m. there it is… I was watching a late showing of Marcus Grodi’s “Journey Home” on EWTN when: blam! Splot! “I’ve arrived!” It was the biggest, blackest, nastiest (all right, it wasn’t a brown recluse or even a widow but it was bad) arachnid, right there, to the right of the curtains, just behind the television and impossible, for a cripple, to get to. Ah!

Now, to add to my woes – and I don’t know why I forgot to mention this – my profiling bed is in this sitting-room (won’t go into why but it makes sense).

I wasn’t going to sleep with this thing (by the way, Lucy – poodle – has her own room!), so - as I did in the past when legs weren’t so bad – somehow, I had to get the cordless vacuum and aim for it. Hah! Without help?

Well, there-you-go. Helpless. Prayer is all you have.

“Jesus! Jesus!” (before, I’ve tried to cross myself but I think last night I was shaking too much.) I had to turn my back on intruder and reach for the charging, very heavy, Dyson…

I wobbled all over the place. Got my foot caught a couple of times in Lucy’s day-time pen. The damned thing let its web out, dropped and hid behind the curtain. I tried to hold on to a plasma (thin and light) TV-top… And then with another “Please, Jesus…” Just pointed, hoping for the best, and saw it – perhaps, not sure, only just – get sucked down the black-hole tube!

Then I sprayed – a little (allergies!) - high strength pyrethrin, went to brush my teeth (and breathe!), checked Lucy, came back and threw Holy Water all over the place. At last I felt better and could try to settle for the night.

And here I am. The next lunch-time. Daren’t look around but, hey, Mass is on. And there you have it…

They wanted proof of God’s existence?!

Amen