Our family recently made the insanely long drive down to Southern California to visit my family for a week. We strategically planned our trip for early March, hoping to swap Idaho’s lingering winter temps for eternally sunny SoCal. Unfortunately, we found ourselves vacationing in cloudy, chilly weather accompanied by the probably two days of rain Orange County will see this year, while Idaho was hitting record warm temperatures during our absence. You can’t win ‘em all.
In spite of the chillier weather, going to the beach was still high on the priority list for our land-locked Idahoan kiddos. So, bundled in our sweatpants and coats (layered over swimsuits— just in case), we headed to the beach.
As soon as we arrived, uninhibited by the 50 degree weather and biting wind chill, Harrison and Poppy raced toward the ocean with full abandon. Joyous screams filled the air as they played a game of tag with the ever-crashing and receding waves. What I expected to be a “dip our feet in the water” experience turned into a full plunge as the kids stripped down to their bathing suits and allowed themselves to be pummeled by the waves. The freezing water could not dampen their joy and their sense of awe in the presence of one of God’s masterpieces.
For a full minute, I stood there with my toes in the sand and the biggest smile stretched across my face, fully immersed in the simple beauty of my kids experiencing the ocean for the first time. And then, I wept. I wept over the one piece missing from this idyllic scene that would forever be seared into the “family memory” file of my brain: Shep.
We had planned to leave Shep at the house with my parents, knowing our plans for the day just wouldn’t be accessible for Shep. We specifically headed to Corona Del Mar Beach so the kids could kick off their ocean science unit for school by exploring the tide pools and the sea life that makes its home there. As we walked down the incredibly steep slope leading to the shore, it confirmed our hunch that we would not have been able to safely push Shep’s heavy adaptive stroller up or down it. Not to mention, his stroller is not suited for being pushed through dry, unpacked sand. We would have been unable to climb over jagged, uneven rocks searching for hermit crabs and sea snails and gently poking the sea anemone. The beach experience we wanted Harrison and Poppy to have simply would not have worked for Shep. We knew this was true, and yet, as I stood watching my older two children frolicking through the waves, I was overcome with grief that Shep was not there with us.
Without a word spoken, I could tell my husband was experiencing the same conflict of emotions as I was. On the drive home, we talked about how our sadness was not just that Shep couldn’t have joined us for some modified, adaptive beach experience; we felt the old ache of wishing he could’ve been there experiencing the beach in the same way his siblings got to. We longed to watch him run into the sea and have it chase him back out. We desperately wanted to hear his laughter and have him voice his awe-struck thoughts about the wild vastness of the ocean. We wished he could climb rocks like four-year-old boys do and yell with elation when he stumbled across a skittering crab. We wanted our day at the beach to be what ordinary families experience— joy. Without grief.
Our bittersweet day at the beach left my brain lingering over the word “access” and the implications it has on our everyday lives. Access is something most of us never even consider until we’ve had ours denied in some way. Having a disabled son has changed how I view the world in this regard. Spontaneity is replaced by meticulous planning and preparation before any outing with a disabled loved one. Heavy doors, uneven terrain, staircases, crowded places, and narrow walkways are all to be considered when you are navigating life with a wheelchair. And this is simply looking at accessibility through a lens of physical disabilities. Having true access to something is also affected by cognitive disabilities, communication limitations, sensory processing issues, etc. For the disabled community, access almost always requires a modified experience. And when sufficient modifications cannot be made, it means missing out and sitting on the sidelines of life.
Shep did not have access to the beach day our family experienced. The rest of our family, without a second thought, walked down a steep hill, onto the sand, into the water, and up and over rocks. Barriers and obstacles made it such that Shep had no means of approaching the beach the way we did with his limited physical abilities and the equipment we currently have for him. Inaccessibility is a heartbreaking reality in Shep’s life that naturally leads to separation and missed opportunities.
While most of us have not experienced the sting of inaccessibility due to physical limitations, Ephesians chapter 2 speaks of a different type of barrier we all face— our inherent separation from God. Verse 12 describes how, because of our sin, we were “separated from Christ . . . having no hope and without God in the world.” Faced with the insurmountable barrier of perfectly keeping God’s law, we were denied access to God and to hope. Sin is the universal disability that prevents us from truly approaching God.
BUT the chapter goes on to say, “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ . . . through him we both have access in one Spirit to the Father” (Ephesians 2:15, 18). Friends, Jesus broke down the barrier we could not climb by living the perfect, sinless life we never could and exchanging our guilt for His righteousness. Jesus is our access. By His blood, we are made right with God, and we gain not only a relationship with Him, but also the hope of Heaven. I can’t think of a single thing that would be more devastating to miss out on than this.
As sad as it is that Shep will not have access to every place and experience here on earth, that pales in comparison to the tragedy of not having access to our God who loves us. I’m so thankful for the price Jesus paid to make a way for me to have a relationship with my loving Father here on earth and a future in Heaven with Him. There, He will make all things new and whole. We will no longer be bound or hindered by the things that hold us back now and sadness will be no more. Man, do I long for Heaven. I can’t wait to get there and take my Shep to the beach.
Good Shepherd 