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G3 = Grace, Grit, and Guts
Posted on June 15 2015
The name of this group I hope to found came to me during my recovery process. It refers to what it takes to be victorious over the loss of a limb: Grace, Grit, and Guts (G3)!
I work full-time as the Instructional Materials Coordinator for a local school district. I have been in public education for 33 years and still love it! My husband, Rob, and our son, Austin, are vital parts of my personal support network. Other family members and friends from church and work have been a precious gift as well. God answered their prayers with an Earthly rather than Heavenly healing when the doctors said I had a 5% chance of surviving; 5% was enough in the Father's eyes... I am a miracle of God!
I have Rheumatoid Arthritis, too, and because I've never gone into remission, I can no longer use my beautiful prosthetic; my joints and other connective tissue just aren't able. But being in a wheelchair is "do-able," I like to say, and I am truly blessed in so many ways!
Few support groups exist to help us. I am trying to obtain Non-Profit status and a fully-accessible location to meet and to occasionally have guest speakers for our meetings. Eventually helping amputees to obtain needed equipment, such as wheelchairs and prosthetics, is also part of the plan as is being active in the political arena to ensure our God-given dignity, respect, and equality are maintained and to educate everyone about the evils of discrimination and bullying against the disabled.
Thank you for taking time to read about the dream and for considering wearing my Bravelet! God bless and be with you!
This is a poem I wrote about 18 months after my amputation. I have always written poetry to help me rejoice, work through saddess, or tell my stories of life.
a thick, feverish fog descended
across my rapidly failing line of vision
and the last color I saw
was an odd green hue
encasing my foot and
leading me from an Autumn
November into a
The shock born in some
frigid room on an
ice-cold slab proclaimed:
It is finished
at the hands of a
portraying himself to the world
a healer, naively trusted
by an untold number - and
The faceless crowd looking at the diseased body
held the tools used to sever
tree branches, muttering about the
needless loss and I'd no way to
scream, to protest, to beg for
answers to why –
too much grinding, filing, and the
smell of warm blood oozing out
so curiously from where my right limb
now thrown into the stack of useless
trash in a steel pan of macabre
In this, the eighteenth month of my
mutilation, I ride a roller coaster
that threatens to throw me to the ground
when it hurtles downward from those
brief moments of God-given hope, moments of
grasping a rope that might
lift me skyward to some sort of
and dreams that shall
never again contain
the brutal severing of limbs.
This poem was written some time later and is shows some of the grace that has re-entered and brightened my life.
O, God of the brightest light
O, God of the darkest night
O, God of endless mercy
Living water when we are thirsty
Who hears us when we weep
Whose very souls you carefully keep
Please listen to us when we pray
And remember us on our silent days
Forgive us when we falter and fall
Raise us up when we can only crawl
Help us to love all your children
You know what in our hearts is hidden
Love us though we are often selfish
Love us though we play we're helpless
Thank you for the Son you gave
Made Human yet created to save
Mysterious beyond our fragile knowledge
Keep us safe on the roads we follow
Please make us clean and good and loving
Through your unending and timeless forgiving
Mold and make us perfectly smooth
Send us peace, grace, beauty, and truth
And smile when we at last have flown
To rest forever at Your eternal Throne