Skeeter's Supernatural Taxi Service
by John Köehler
Some poem excerpts from You Tube video Greenville Jesus Freaks
The Taxi
Now some folks might say that you can't really use a van for a taxi service, much less a big old gnarly-headed WHEELCHAIR van. I mean come on, who in their right minds would WANT to order up a taxi like that? Well sir..... maybe someone in a wheelchair just might. In fact I'm here to tell you that they DO order the service all the time cause I've seen it myself with my very own eyeballs, the eyes the good Lord gave me over 50 years ago. And these eyes ain't tellin' no lies, folks. At least not at this very instant....
First off you have to enter this taxi from the back. As if folks in wheelchairs don't already have enough to weigh them down with doors that don't open and people talking down to them and tables that aren't so welcoming and please use the rear entrance and oh yes mam, your type can sit way over there. We're so accommodating here at Our Lady of Perpetual Perfection...
So here they come and you ask them to enter the van from the BACK? Yup, that's just the way it works, folks and trust me, they don't seem to mind. Because this here taxi service is supernatural and made especially for them. So shoot, they probably would be willing to enter from the roof, or the engine or from underneath the chassis and up through the tailpipe. As long as they get to ride in the full luxury of the Supernatural ride, they could care less about their entrance.
As far as I know the taxi belongs to Luke Skywalker, who rents it to Young Life Capernaum in Greenville, South Cakalacky (Carolina for all you unedumacated types). The reason old Luke bought the van in the first place is on account of it being able to fly across the skies. Have I ever seen it actually do that, you might ask? Well no sir I have not seen Skeeter's Supernatural Taxi fly across the skies with my eyes open.
But if you look with your heart, why you can just about see it zipping across the very Kingdom of God and Luke Skywalker and all his friends too waving out of their star chasers as the Supernatural Taxi carries a bunch of wheelchair bound stars across the skies to say howdy doo to the moon and stars, the Big Dipper and the Big Gipper too.
Who is the Big Gipper you ask? Well now, he is the very sky itself and the stars and Big Dipper and Luke and the taxi and the wheelchair stars and their wheelchairs and the heavens and earths as far as the soul can paint a picture that will make you sing even if you can't sing. The Big Gipper is our Heart Daddy and he loves each and every one of us and pulls us one at a time on to his lap and hugs our hearts and the rest of us and my oh my don't we just feel right as rain when he hugs us that way and we KNOW we are his favorite without him even needing to whisper it into our ears.
But he does anyways and we love it when he does and ask him to say it over and over again.
Skeeter's Supernatural Taxi (SST) is powered by a big old V8 engine, but the REAL power comes from an engine made a long long time ago. In fact the engine that powers the SST was made before time was even invented if you can believe it. Well I can't believe it and I'm sitting here making this all up so I should believe it. Wait a minute..... where was I?
Oh yeah, the REAL power comes from God, OK? Now I know that may sound all spooky and creepy and outer space or religious, but it surely is not any of that at all. The SST is simply powered by God because he loves it and the people that ride in it. Without them there is no SST. Without the riders God would not make it super and it would just be another dumb van crusing down the road to oblivion.
The Driver
Skeeter's nose is flat and wide
Ginormous heart beats just inside
First thing you want is someone fairly young and with quick reflexes driving around God's favorites in a big old wheelchair van, right? And shoot, while you're ordering up the perfect driver, let's also ask for perfect vision and a professional license to transport wheelchairs and their occupants.
Or you could take Skeeter!
Turns out the boy didn't really have much of a chance and would have LOVED it if God had maybe tapped him on the shoulder when he was a danged sight younger than the fifty-fours years he had on him and that ten years ago when this whole thing started. But here's the thing: God doesn't really care about age all that much (don't I know), but WE sure do, now don't we? Yup, we do. Most folks figure if you're gonna work with kids you better be closer to the kid side of age. Or in Skeeter's case, he was able to relate to kids because his heart was young and spry. Plus he just flat out loved them and they KNEW it.
Skeeter has had a very interesting life and truth be told, he could die and go to heaven and he'd be happier than a pig in, uh, a pig in, well he'd be happier than a pig in a river of mud he would. He played football on a full scholarship for UNC and also some basketball. You can really see his power when he pushes and pulls and heaves the wheelchairs into the van. I'm fourteen years younger than the 64-year old stud and he wears me out.Skeeter got game!
Skeeter was on staff with Young Life back in his glory days and served kids without disabilities, unless of course you count things like broken hearts, broken families and broken lives. But then he went off staff and worked in the business world for a long time. Oh now don't get me wrong, the boy continued to work directly for the Big Gipper and did his best to love everyone just about the way he wished they would love him and EXACTLY the way God showed us to love when he sent that amazingly cool man down to earth. I do believe his name was Jesus.
Did you know that man had a piece of God's own heart broken off and placed in him? God's honest truth I'm telling you it is. He was something special he was, and since old God figured we'd be frightened out of our whits if he showed up in a blaze of glory and burnin' bushes and tornadoes and stuff why no one would stick around to listen, now would they? Nope, we'd all be hidin' inside our houses, too scared to hear what God wanted to tell us.
God doesn't want us to be afraid of him, so he sent Jesus in his place, like God with skin on. And that man showed us how to love, boy did he. He said it was easy to love your friends, but hard to love your enemies. But we had to. I'm still having trouble with that one, oh yes I am.
So anyway one day God told old Skeeter he wanted him to be his supernatural taxi driver for some of God's finest in Greenville. Well Skeeter didn't have any idea who God was thinking about at that time, and wondered maybe he was talking about some Very Important People (VIP) like the mayor and elected officials and preachers and such.Well God sure was thinking about his VIPs, but not the ones Skeeter thought he might be thinking of. Because God was thinking about some friends of his that lived in wheelchairs. They were all finer than Caroliner, but they didn't have any way to get around and go places. They needed them a taxi driver. A supernatural taxi driver, one that knew God and God knew him.
Skywalker had said that a starship driver had to have Jedi powers to properly operate the ship. The driver needed lightning fast reflexes but - most importantly - a spirit of Yoda and Jesus all wrapped into one. That would be Skeeter.... to a T. And lo and behold but turns out God had plenty of glory days left for old Skeeter and a whole lot of tears too.
But they was GOOD tears.
Travis
Travis rolls his broken parts
He'll tell you why you are God's art
Though he did not set out to do it, Travis has become a leader in Capernaum. Like most of us, he sees all the things he wishes he could do and the ways he would like to improve himself and be more like Jesus, or Skeeter or Tiger or Tigger.
But God and Skeeter and Coop just see Travis as he is. While he has not seen his own growth, being right smack dab in the middle of it, they have. So even though he wonders how God could pick a fool like him to lead anyone at all, Travis has accepted that he is now God's fool, ready or not cause here he comes. If God can use a fool, then why not you?
This summer at Rockbridge camp, we were all hanging out on the front porch of the dining hall, waiting to go in. Being a tender-hearted and careful man about guys in wheelchairs, I began wrestling with Travis. Me standing and he in his wheelchair. Is there a problem with this?
Look, before you skewer me with your lacerated thoughts, keep in mind that the boy is strong as an ox. Just because he can't move his lower half all that much does not change the fact that he can throw you across the room with his upper half. Doing a little grappling is a time-honored test of maleness, a way to say howdy or even embarrass the other. But that was NOT my intention here, people! At least not that I remember. I might have forgotten my meds that day...
Travis and I were laughing and carrying on. Then something happened when I straightened up. It was not my fault! For whatever reason, Travis' new wheelchair without the bumpers on back just flipped over backwards. Bang! Now I could tell immediately that Travis was OK. He is in many ways an athlete and he knows how to fall. So because I knew he was OK I did the appropriate thing any male would do when he gets the upper hand of a buddy and puts him on his astronaut: I started laughing.
There I was, looking down at Travis flat on his back, laughing my head off. He was smiling, but I could see a little look of defiance that said, "Oh, I'll get you back, boy..... I'll get you back!" Cripple guys are MEAN!
I was standing there just hootin' and hollerin' and then I realized that folks were looking at me. By then a bunch of high school girls came to Travis' aide and he did NOT mind at all, no not one little bitty bit. And everyone else looked at me, the Cripple Killer, the mean able-bodied dude.
Worst of all Pam Harmon turned around, saw Travis on his back, wheels spinning in the breeze, and me laughing while all around pie holes were hanging open in surprise and expectation at how exactly Pam was going to execute me right there on the spot, nasty big meany that I was. "Yay," they said, "Pam's gonna kill Koehler! Let's watch."
"Oh sure," she said, "wherever someone gets hurt, you expect to see John Koehler." Game over dude, dead man walking. I stopped laughing and clapped my mouth shut quick. And there below me, surrounded by a bunch of pretty little high school chicks, was Travis, laughing HIS head off at the ijit that was me. I tried to tell everyone that it was HIS fault, that I wasn't even touching him when he went over. But it was too late, and by that time Travis was using all of his cripple pity skills and the high school girls were making puppy noises over him. No one believed me.
Travis is a good sport about his own needs, like a lot of wheelchair dudes I know. He didn't even get upset the time we forgot to strap down the front of his chair cause we had just a little ways to go. Can you say duh? Sure enough Skeeter had to go over a pretty big bump and Travis' chair went back and then the front went up and Kevin said, "Oh no."
When I turned around all I could see was Travis' feet sticking straight up in the air. Now look, it was REALLY funny, but I waited til Kevin told us Travis was still alive, then I started laughing. Hey, you gotta show proper etiquette. We pulled over and got him strapped in right and he never held it against us.
Travis is just a fine human being and has figured out how to pour his spirit into others. Now that is an art form. I do believe that boy is fulfilling the destiny that God built for him. Here's the thing, God built ONE table for us all to eat from. I used to think there were a bunch of different tables, but no, just one. His table. And since we're all his children, he expects us to get along well enough to eat from the same table.
Travis is not afraid to elbow his way to the table and help his brothers and sisters more shy then he is get there too. I'd advise you to not get in their way, cause either God or Travis will be showing you some tough love mighty soon.
Travis said once about the SST, "You know, sometimes we have more fun getting there than we have being there." That gives you some idea of the size of his intelligence. He is one smart guy but the beautiful thing is that his heart intelligence is becoming downright brilliant. God wants us to love and live in a brilliant way, a radiant way.
And Travis? Well he is so brilliant sometime you might be blinded and wonder whether you were talking to an angel. But then you remember that angels don't use wheelchairs, right?
Travis is my blood brother. How can he be your blood brother you might ask. Because we are united through the blood of Jesus, and the fact that we all come from the same father. A genetic link. How strange is that? Stranger than fiction. I walk, he rolls. He's a chick magnet, girls just feel sorry for me. He looks low and I look high. He is a carrot and I'm a pea. Very different, yet both of us vegetables.
Hey, can I change to an asparagas? I don't want to pea...
Tia
Tia's moves may not be clean
Yet still she is God's beauty queen
Tia is one of God's beauty queens, no doubt about it. Tia's Mom can just about make your teeth drop right out of your mouth and curl you up in a ball on the ground cause she is so darned pretty and sweet to boot. Yes mam, you say to her, you can use me for kick the can. I'd like to be the can if that' alright, mam. Maybe you'll let me live out back here in your nasty old recycling container. Shoot, I'll even pay you rent.
In this case the apple did not fall far from the tree, cause Tia looks and acts like her Momma. Not that I'm a fashion hound (or even a rabbit), but the girl knows how to dress and what to wear and how to do her hair. Basically all the things a woman know how to do to make herself look better to the world and to GUYS, Tia knows how to do.
You might be tempted to call me a creepy old guy, but I just could not take my eyes off her. She is so beautiful and is in my opinion a Princess of the Kingdom. What kingdom you might ask? The Kingdom of God, I might answer. There is such grace and dignity in Tia. I could try all the rest of my life to be as grace-filled as she is and I know it is hopeless before I even try.
This is just one of the gifts God has given her and so I do not presume to have it, or want it. I am thankful that she DOES have it, thankful to just share some living room with her for a while. Thankful to speak with her and get a text from her. Shoot, I was ready to be her door mat if I needed to be! Or even have my toes run over by her! She obliged me more than once....
I am used to being with people that have physical disabilities, so I know that many of them can not do things we take for granted, like wiping drool strands off. When it happens you just reach up with a napkin or your sleeve and wipe it off. Or catch it and snap it off, if it comes from Coop and is strong enough to string up on a banjo!
We were driving back from somewhere or other and I turned back to look at folks jabbering away. One of the things about the SST is that it sucks words out of you like a campfire or a stream. It's almost like there is a spiritual vacuum that pulls those words out of your heart faster than you can say, "Jibberty jam."
This is the supernatural part of the taxi, for sure. Because if you put these same folks in another setting you would most certainly not get the same conversations. The supernatural aspect of God's taxi is the thing that runs through everyone's hearts like a river and flows on out of their mouths with words that sprang up somewhere a long time ago in a place called Eden.
Naturally I looked over at Tia for the BILLIONTH time, like sneaking a peek over and over at the Mona Lisa.... in 3D! She had an enigmatic smile, a soft smile, not sad, but not happy, just graceful and Mona like.
A strand of drool was hanging from her mouth. It was about six inches long, perfectly balanced. Not getting any longer or shorter. Just there. Normally I would have gotten out of my chair to wipe it away. But I didn't. Cause Tia didn't care about it. And truth be told it just made her more beautiful to me. I know that sounds weird but it is the truth.
Tia can't help it that her body is broken and she must be in a wheelchair. She can't help it that her legs can't hold her. She certainly can not help it that sometimes her mouth slips open and drool comes out and, worst of all, she can't just bring up her hand and brush it away like walkie talkie folks can. She accepts all of this. She accepts the drool and does not let it change her or bring her down.
She is God's favorite Princess and her drool is his jewelry. Everything about her is a treasure to God, so why not to us? I count myself lucky to be Tia's knave, her foot stool, her jester, her underling, underfoot, underway and understudy. Tia is one of the most inside out beautiful human beings I have ever met. I count it a privilege and joy to know her.
PS- one last thing among the many last things of my life. I think that God is in all of us whether or not we believe it or not, whether or not we know him and accept him. Some folks would say that can't be true unless we accept Jesus into our hearts but I would just tell them to go eat an onion and be quiet, they don't know what they are talking about. Seriously, just be quiet. Quit being in such a hurry to separate out the goats from the sheep when God make BOTH the goats and the sheep and Jesus CAME for the goats and the sick and needy.
Just be quiet and still and listen, you righteous people, you people that know God so well that it clogs your ears with stupidity and your eyes with ignorance. Just be quiet. Shhhhh.
If God made us in his image then God's image, his face, his personality and love and joy and all that is him, no matter what you think that is or in what form you see him, is in all of us. So if that is true then it is also true that we can see God in every single person. That may be a tough pill to swallow, and the pill may even be a placebo. But for me it is as true as the blue of the sky above, as real as the green of the grass beat of my heart.
I see God in people. I see God in Tia more than most, because she has learned to get herself out of the way. Well done Tia. Congratulations, for you have achieved what many spend their whole lives working towards: the simplicity of God.
I see God in Tia and she is beautiful to me because her own woman beauty has been joined with God's supernatural beauty. I think this was most evident when we were riding in the SST, when all the rainbows came together in a perfect storm of happiness and God turned on his headlights for us and our eyes shone like beacons and our worlds spilled out like tinkling bells at God's altar.
I wonder did I smell incense in that van...
Coop
Coop's insect eyes are tried and true
They see his God inside of you
Shooba-dibi-bop-boop
Shama-lama-pop-coop
That does NOT mean I want to pop Coop. I don't, though there have been times when the boy ran over my toes or more likely got all uppity with his big college words and tried to get under my skin when I might have popped him.... accidentally.
Well who ever in their right mind would go and give a cripple guy permission to be so high and mighty as to jabber away at a nice able-bodied feller like me as if he were my perfect equal. Didn't they teach him anything at all in special education about minding his manners and his Ps and Qs and all that? I mean really, shouldn't cripple folks be seen and not hardly heard at all? Shouldn't they have to take classes in what class of person they are? As in lower class cause everyone knows they already sit lower in the world and God must have wanted them to sit in the back, ride in the back, hold themselves back and generally back away from the upper class folks in the world. Like me. Shouldn't they have to learn they are my lesser and me their superior? Come on people, pay attention!
Well of COURSE not, but even if some folks still believe all that rot, Coop never got the memo I'm happy to say. Why that boy acts almost as if was every bit as important as me. Can you beLIEVE it? What audacity to hope and be that way. I bet he didn't learn that in school, so I'm blaming his Mom and Dad, yeah especially Princess Peg and her man hub who also did not ever get the memo about the proper way to raise their son Coop.
Oh they knew he was special alright, but they figured they were too, and their other kids and so was all the world and so what was the point about separating special kids out of the special world and the rest of the very special people. If God made us all then didn't he make us all special and so what if we're a tad different from each other.
The loggers pick out the straight trees and leave the crooked, but God made them both. Japanese sensai create perfection by making their bonzai trees crooked, because straight is boring and there is no art there. They go out of their way to create imperfection and call it beautiful and we can see that it is beautiful. The wind sweeps the sand pines over to the southwest and away from the prevailing northeast winds that rake the coast. They are completely imbalanced and completely beautiful.
Who wants perfection when imbalance is more interesting. Who wants symmetry when asymmetry is so much more poetic. Well sir, if that is the case, then old Coop must be very interesting and filled with poetry, cause that boy is about as imbalanced and asymmetric as you can be. Yet according to the Japanese zen gardeners he is most beautiful, so who are we to argue?
Not that I'm gonna tell the boy he's beautiful mind you. That would be gay and he would never let me introduce him without calling him beautiful and so I'd have to toss him and his wheelchair over the side of the boat, him laughing the whole way cause he won and even if he drowned it would be a beautiful death, and even if he died it would be a beautiful funeral.
I hate funerals. Why do we insist on becoming so maudlin about someone graduating to God? When Coop dies I will not attend his stupid funeral unless they PROMISE me it will be a big old party. Oh but wait, maybe he will come to MY funeral. Ha, if he does I want him crying. Not really Coop!! Dude, I want you to come and smell my exhaust baby boy, cause I just kicked your butt in the race home to our Pop Pop.
Look up in the sky and watch that shooting star cross your face and know that I'm flying with the angels. I will visit you in your dreams my brother and then we will fly together until you can not separate your dream from your wakey wake world and eyes open or closed make no difference because the Kingdom of God is at hand which means you can touch it all the time. Touch it, Coop. Oh yeah, you already are...
Maybe when we die we will finally realize that we were already eternal and completely alive and living in Heaven. Maybe we will and I wonder if there will be regret for not living that way.
If life is a journey then each step gets us one step closer to God. Think about it. Every single moment of every day brings us one step closer to our death to this life and birth to the next. And if we are marching to our new birth then we are in fact getting younger to that life, growing younger to the time when we will be born again to the newness of God when all there is in all eternity is you and him. I know I know, it is a confounding idea. If it confounded Nicodemus, one of the smartest religious experts alive, then you don't have to feel so bad.
When you die, baby, it will be just you and him, his lap spreading out before you like the most expensive Posturpedic and so you lay down and rest your baby self, and when he puts his hand on your brow all your pain and heartaches from your old life fall away and all the things you hoped were true are proved to be true and your heart explodes from your chest and your body expands like a tidal wave until you are so huge and you fly like another Supernatural Taxi across Heaven.
But you never ever leave God's lap as you fly across his Kingdom. It is so beautiful and you cry an ocean but your tears fall as rain across the skies in your hometown and all your friends back home see your rainbow and they remember you.
Coop makes rainbows every day and if you just turn your heart the right way you can smell them. Oh yeah and see them and feel them too. If you get close to him you'll learn you are part of the same rainbow and you are, according to Coop, the treasure at the end of the rainbow. And here you were racing your whole life searching for the perfect rainbow for the perfect treasure so that you could find all the riches of the world. One more rainbow Lord, just one more. Maybe tomorrow.
But Coop will show you that you just ain't looking in the right way and in fact, you ARE the rainbow. You just can't see it cause you're in it, but others can see it a little, when the clouds of your life make enough contrast for them to see your rainbow against the darkness. If God can make bonzai perfection and beauty from Coop, then why not you? If God shoots out the brightness and most colorful rainbow from Coop, the King of all Brokenness, then why not you, the Queen of all Perfection?
Oh I already know the answer, and so do you. Just because people can't see your brokenness does not mean you ain't broken. Coop knows that. He's broken on the outside plain as day, but he's perfect on the inside, plain as the Jewish Rabbi that healed his CP brother when he was dropped down through a hole in the roof two thousand years ago. God didn't MAKE him crooked, but he sure is using it to make rainbows and draw people closer to himself.
So what about you? Talk to Coop if you want to learn how to make your rainbow shine like a beacon on a hill. Talk to Coop if you want to learn how to heal the inside out brokenness of your heart. He knows a guy who can help. A guy who can turn your twisted soul into the most beautiful twisted bonzai rainbow the world has ever seen.
Talk to Coop and get ready to ride!
Liz
She rolls across the foyer floor
Pops a wheely then asks for more
I can't help but love Liz. She is one fine and totally bodacious chick, no doubt about it. She is sadness and gladness, weakness and power, rain and shine, stillness and speed. Liz is all things and wants all things that she can grab during her flight across time. Why not?
Why should she not have all the things you have? So what if she's in a wheelchair. Do wheelchairs make you retarded? Oh gosh, I said retarded! Retarded means held back, folks. It is OK to use the word, the problem comes from labeling folks as "retarded" or even worse as a Retard. That is a terrible thing, but the word is OK as a verb, according to...... me. Sue me.
Point is that some folks assume that anyone in a wheelchair is naturally less able than they are in the cranial world of thought and cognition. That means how smart they are! This is really a problem when the wheelchair low life has a speech impediment. I mean really, how rude can you be as to not be able to speak clearly to another human. If you can't speak to me in a normal manner then why oh why should I take the time to stoop down to your level and try extra hard to understand you.
And another thing, why can't you raise that stupid wheelchair up to my level and talk to me on the level in a normal way. Look, I just can't deal with you and your brokenness and your stupid retarded self with your stupid slurs and drooling and surely SOMEONE must have sinned in your family for God to curse you with the disabilities you have and thank God it is not me. Oh thank you Lord it ain't me.
Liz is very smart, and smart enough to understand those kinds of conversations that many folks have, external or internal, about her. She can see them respond to her, see them shrink away, treat her differently. She gets it all. She sees it all. And it just hurts her heart all the time. She wishes is wasn't so, but it is so. She gets it all.
And she wants it all. She wants to be part of the same world that can push her away, toss her out with the trash, dump her sorry self down the garbage chute with nary a backwards glance. She wants to live in that world and so.... she does.
Push pull yin yang hot cold walk roll bad good. Liz lives in the walkie talkey world and the roll & drool world all at the same time. Truth is her world is a hybrid, one that she's built herself and she is the finest Concierge at the Walk & Roll Hotel. May I help you she asks the able-bodied folks that beseech her to tell them how to understand the man in the corner who keeps rocking back and forth. She tells them about the man and they become friends with him.
How can I serve you, brother, she asks a boy who rolls in on a pimped out wheelchair and can't find his parents, because they put him into a foster home cause they never figured God meant for them to have a child that was less than perfect. Liz assures the kid that he is perfectly made and he falls asleep in the hotel lobby. Nobody stares and nobody cares, because if they did they know they would hear from the Concierge, who watches over her sleeping friend like a lioness her cubs.
A Concierge must be smart and empathetic and able to imagine what it is that people want almost before they do. They are magical people. Liz is a magical person, a beautiful magical, mystical and extremely special one-of-a-kind person sent by God as a bridge to help all God's people meet somewhere over the rainbow where their differences fall away and their sameness remains.
Liz reminds us that we are all the same. Talk to her and ask for her help. She'll make sure you get the finest rooms at the Heavenly Hybrid Hotel. Going UP!
Kevin
Kevin's head is out of sight
God uses him to do what's right
Kevin is God's man, just like Forrest Gump was God's man. He'll be the first to tell you that he ain't the sharpest tool in the shed when it comes to book smarts, but I'm here to tell you that no one is sharper when it comes to being a servant.
Kevin doesn't know any better. No, I'm not kidding and I'm not saying that because he isn't intelligent. He is intelligent. What I mean is that he doesn't know any other way to be and has never learned any other way to be other than to want to do right according to God. Well shoot fire, I hope the boy never unlearns that and learns what the world has for him, because he sure has taught me some things.
Kevin takes a long time to say short things, and his best friends laugh at him about it. He doesn't mind, cause it's more like his accent and helps make him who he is. I don't know who God wants him to be but I do know what I saw that he is right now. Kevin has a servant's heart and aims to please God by serving others. God said that if we serve his people we might as well be serving him. Hmmmm, can that be true? You bet it is, and Kevin knows that the truth will set you free.
Rumor is that Kevin and Coop may move into their own place one day and if they do, then Kevin will take care of Coop's physical needs while Coop takes care of Kevin's intellectual needs. Truth is that I don't think Kevin is all that interested in becoming a genius like Coop, and is happy just the way he is, because he gets what he gets and can give what he has. The KISS rule applies to life and Kevin is living it out. In his case instead of it standing for Keep it Simple Stupid, it should be Keep it Simple Saint.
It never made much sense to me the idea of being a saint. Catholics make saints out of special people and have a rigorous method of bestowing sainthood. But I think maybe God makes us all his saints through the sanctification of what that Jewish rabbi did for us a long time ago. I think we have a hard time with the notion of being a saint for God or for anyone, but are real comfortable with the idea of being a sinner.
Now if you go to a black church, and I mean a real Gospel church, you will hear the preacher call the people SAINTS. All inclusive. Because even though black folks have to deal with some mighty tough things in life and still are dragging themselves out of the slavery of self and society, they know that according to God they are saints, made right by God alone, worthy of standing before God to accept his blessing and purpose.
Kevin is a saint of God and he knows it. Not the way a lot of righteous church folks do when they wear their best clothes and put on their best airs and walk their best way and talk the talk and walk the walk right on by the beggar in the wheelchair with his heart in his hand, "please can you help me out, brother?" Oh they can help you out, but you ain't their brother..... brother. You ain't related at all, so they walk on by, into church where they hide behind their hymnals and put on the armor of God, only the wrong kind, the kind that covers their hearts and fills their eyes and ears with mud.
Kevin knows that God loves him and he loves God. He knows that because of his belief God has made him perfect and will use him like a simple saint. Kevin is quite simply a saint. If you are interested in applying for sainthood, please talk to Kevin. Then you'll see that if a guy like Kevin can become a saint, maybe you can too. God will take anyone! Because to him we are all Grade A Certified Best by God. That goes for Kevin and for you.
Now get on with it, saint!
Josh
His smile betrays the treasure within
A lucky thing to be Josh's friend
I loved Josh from the moment I first met him at Rockbridge camp. But don't go telling him that, cause if you live in the hood and you're a dude, you don't go around loving on other guys with unseemly acts of gayness.
Like after I helped Josh load up in his wheelchair one fine day when I was visiting all the fine Greenville Capernaum folks. There we were just outside of the SST, me standing and him seated. So I did the right thing and bent over to give him a hug and he jumped back like I had a bucket of acid.
See if I hugged him in broad daylight on his street it would show him as weak and that was one thing young Josh most certainly did not need. Hard enough to get by in the hood with your whole body working, harder still when you lived in a wheelchair and your lower body was pretty much worthless due to the ravages of Spina Bifida.
But don't get me wrong, the boy is anything BUT weak. He is one tough muchacho to be sure. Josh pumps iron and does everything he can to make sure his upper body can compensate for his lower. He is super strong and can do gymastic fetes like get down out of the SST and into his chair on his own. We're not talking about a side to side lateral move here, folks. We're talking about leaning way way down and getting both hands on the bottom of the door frame and then spinning his body over and into his chair. Dude! Sweet move.
Basketball is his game or, more precisely, basketball is his passion. Josh plays in his chair, a push chair old school chair. He wouldn't be caught dead in a power chair when he can control his own destiny and pushing his own body around keeps him strong, in control and closer to being an alpha male.
No doubt he is alpha and thinks himself a chick magnet like most American guys do. He's a good looking guy for sure (he won't accept me saying that!) and does have a strong charm and knows how to use it with people.... when he wants to. Truth is that a wheelchair gives some guys special powers with chicks. Almost an unfair advantage! If I did it all over again I think I'd have me a wheelchair in high school. Use it during school and then put it away at night. Would that be cheating? You mean I can't use the chair unless I really need it? Dang it...
I helped Josh set up the Josh B-ball Tournament at Rockbridge for the past two years. I got on the mic and invited folks, whooped it up. It was an optional thing up in the gym during free time, same as Smackdown. Josh was upset cause we got a lot more people for Smackdown than b-ball, but I explained they come to Smackdown same as coming to NASCAR: someone could get hurt. But no one did, so take it easy all you big babies who think it ain't right taking folks out of wheelchairs and onto a wrestling mat.
Actually it AIN'T right, but sometimes right is wrong and wrong is right and what could be better than watching a couple of CP guys slow motioning their way through a match. Then there was the time that CW kept staring at me during Smackdown. I was a ref and helping keep the excitement up. CW was having a great time and smiling. Oh wait, CW ALWAYS smiles, so maybe he has a good time all the time. Maybe he never got the memo about being depressed. I'll explain it to him later.
So there he was, sitting near the wrestling circle. Every time I looked over at him he would point at me like Darth Vader in a wheelchair. Yup, it was a nasty point alright. Finally I said, "Me? You want to wrestle me?" Spastic waving and head bogging convinced me I was on to something. "No way I'm wrestling the likes of you," said I, and went back to the match at hand.
But he was persistent, so finally I told some fellas to get the big lunkhead formerly known as CW and now known as Bone Crusher out of his chair. They laid him on the mat and then I got on the mat. We stared at each other for a while, laughing. I knew he wasn't going anywhere quick, on account of him being a quadriplegic and all. I figured game over dude, game over. I win!
But he had other ideas and leaned into me. I grabbed him and we proceeded to do a series of rolls that might have been poetic if not for the wrestling mat, the stinky bodies all around us and the guys all yelling, "Kill him, Bone Crusher!" and other encouragements to CW.
I'm not really sure what happened but he managed to flip me and lay on top of me until I was slapped out three times and CW was given the pin. I figure he must of gotten everyone to pray really hard or someone in the gym had stuck a long needle into my voodoo doll likeness, cause otherwise no way would I lose to a sissy CP boy like CW. But I guess I'm the sissy now. He's gonna be hard to take.
Josh is pretty hard to take in basketball. As in take him out. You figure OK, I'm six feet two inches and he's like, shoot, shorter than a short munchkin. Game over, no contest. But I figure maybe Josh sold his soul to the devil or something, cause he has powers way beyond what he has any right to have. Dude got game! But come on, he's in a chair and I'm not. Truth is his skills and lack of height and my height and lack of skills about evened out my chances with the man.
When I visited Greenville Capernaum this past December, we had about a fifteen minute window between dinner and when I had to talk, and Josh was on me to play him like white on rice. Or maybe more like brown on rice, if you take my meaning.
I took a quick lead and we were at 7-4, first to 10 wins. Who says white boys can't jump? Well.... this one really can't all that much and I had more than one ball stolen by the midget on wheels. Dude fouled me too, over and over. He was mean man. I want my money back....whatever.
The problem was Josh was looking for his range and just wasn't hitting the 3-pointers. Then I lost my range and my layups and plus he was FOULING me. Then Josh started hitting the 3-pointers. Game over dude! Swish! He wound up beating me 10-7, but keep in mind he was CHEATING the whole game. People think cripples are nice and all, but I don't think so. They are tough and they CHEAT. But he did win, I give him that. Nice game, Josh!
Afterwards I was going into the restroom to, uh, rest. Skeeter came out and said good, Josh needed my help. He did need help and I'm glad I was there to give it. Blood was everywhere. Josh was on the tile floor trying to clean himself up. Turns out a sore had kind of opened up and bled a bit. I helped him get cleaned up and then cleaned up the floor. Josh never complained, never felt sorry for himself. Just matter of fact. Determined, courageous and honest. Called his Mom and told her what happened. No worries. Matter of fact.
Josh taught me some things that night. He taught me that supernatural things can be done by folks that we don't think have any powers whatsoever. And that we can do supernatural things that we never thought we could. Josh taught me that if a dude starts hitting threes on you, game over, baby, game over!
At camp we were getting ready to do the the Whirlpool, which is when everyone walks the same way in the shallow section of the pool, near the edge. It creates an amazing current that will push you right along. But to people with physical disabilties, that can be scary and require you to put a lot of trust in someone to carry or hold you during the Whirlpool. I asked Josh over and over if he wanted to go and how cool it would be. I pushed him hard and told him he needed to be brave.
At the last minute he looked at me and said, "Aright, I go, but you gotta carry me on your back." See Josh had to think through the whole trust thing and also not looking weak. He figured he would still be in charge if he rode me like his personal horse versus me carrying him like my little baby boy Josh. I said cool, and he hopped on.
Doing the Whirlpool is probably what really made Josh and me brothers. The other stuff was cool, but that was life and death. It proved to him that he could trust me, and proved to me that he was brave and I needed to expect more from him. I did and still do.
Alex & Niki
Alex & Niki sitting in a tree
K-I-S-S-I-N-G
Whoah now, hold on a second! First off, two people in wheelchairs ain't gonna be SITTING in no tree. I mean, OK, maybe if it was some kind of specially constructed tree house with a special wheelchair lift, you could get them up there and then maybe the old rhyme would make sense.
But here's the other thing, who the heck is EVER going to let people with disabilities romance much actually KISS each other. I mean WHAT! Why would anyone want to let that happen? Next think you know there'll be little baby wheelchairs running around and all kinds of creepy stuff happening, right?
Uh.... wrong. Actually that's all wrong. Amazingly enough, people with disabilities are EXACTLY like everybody else when it comes to love and romance. Exactly like you and me and.... all the rest of God's people. We all are drawn to each other because that is the way God made us. Sometimes that love and devotion blooms and relationships grow and marriages happen and babies come and families and so forth.
Alex and Niki are dating. They are a couple. They both are in wheelchairs, for different reasons, but both drive in the power lane. He's black and she's white, but they decide which is right.... and which is an illusion. Sorry, Moody Blues lyrics...
But here's the thing, love knows no boundaries. Whether it is God's love or love between a man and a woman, nothing can hold back love. Not skin color, cultures or money. Not disabilities so profound that the concept of holding each other is pretty tough. Nothing can hold back love. So... Alex & Niki are dating.
They are pretty much like most couples when you get beyond all the surface stuff. Alex is very protective of Niki, and threatened to break my legs when I threatened to sit next to her to "have her to myself" during the van ride. I believed him.
Alex is perhaps from the wrong century and would have been better suited to one of the romance periods when men held their women in the highest honor and spoke and acted out of devotion and with a certain poetic and thoughtful language. I love listening to Alex speak. He is an intellectual and you can hear it in the way he puts words together.
Niki is marvelous. She teases Alex like any girlfriend would and they communicate with more than words, with noises and things unspoken, just like any couple would. Niki is, like Tia, beautiful and graceful, her broken body held with poise and feminine allure against all odds. Seriously, what are the odds of a cripple girl being able to turn heads and make her equally crippled boyfriend consider two-by-fouring the dude checking out his girl?
The odds are pretty good, actually, cause Niki DOES turn heads and Alex WILL use a 2x4 if he could find someone strong enough to swing it against your head. Don't mess with the Alex. So yeah, Niki and Alex are just a couple that happen to have disabilities. So what? They want what you want. Happiness, companionship, fun, trust and love.
I like seeing them together. It makes me happy. But no worries, it ain't pity happiness. They just make me happy being together is all. Seems right, like a lot of couples do.
Niki and Alex are a couple. God is good.
Ben
OK, so I've got a lot to say about Ben Brewer. Yeah, I'm giving up his last name because it is important, because he's a grown man and because I'm pretty sure he won't sue me. His last name is important, folks, so stay with me now.
After actually visiting his house in Greenville one day in December of 2008 (a good year in the end), I had a chance to check out for myself whether or not the boy WAS a brewer. There were no telltale smells of malt, hops or corn alcohol byproducts, nor did I see any barrels, vats, copper piping, stoves or kegs anywhere inside or outside the house. But.... I never checked the garage!
So it is in fact possible that Ben is fulfilling his family name by brewing..... something! That would explain his spending so much time in a wheelchair. Intoxication. So sad really. So unnecessary. Oh sure, he'll try and tell you the reason is cerebral palsy, and that may or may not be true. But I'm holding out the brewing option. I'm pretty sure most brewers are cripples.
Well..... maybe I made all that up, but you have to admit, it WAS pretty funny. If that didn't make you laugh you should really slap yourself silly. Then go drink a large Slurpee and a half gallon of Moose Track ice cream. Now go back and read the story again...
Now let me please explain the disturbing photo used in this story. First, I would love to know what caption you would use for this photo. Send them to me and I may include them. Here are a few that come to mind:
You're right, Ben, I CAN smell it better from down here.
Look John, my chin is spooning with your head....
No, stop squeezing me, I just ate a burrito!
Stop it Ben! This is Greenville, not Brokeback Mountain....
Your captions may not be as "uplifting" as mine, but no worries. The story behind the photo is actually pretty funny. Turns out Ben has been aware for some time about the whole Capernaum Smackdown thing we started in Virginia Beach. He would even argue that HE was the one that invented Capernaum Smackdown, as he has wrestled with friends before many times. He's a dude, ain't he? Dudes like to wrestle, whether they are able bodied or disabled. No matter.
So when I came to speak to Greenville Capernaum, Ben was ready. I knew right away that he was gonna be trouble when before I even started to speak, while I was just organizing my papers at the podium, Ben was heckling me. How rude. Everyone knows you don't heckle a dude who's organizing his papers.
Is there anything possible worse that cripple hecklers? Well yeah, cauliflower is right up there on the list, but seriously, crippled hecklers should be banned. People feel sorry for them and allow it! That is so wrong. Ben was just a heckler that happened to be in a wheelchair. But BECAUSE he's in a wheelchair, people thought he was funny.
Don't LAUGH at him, for goodness sake, that will only egg him on, and I'll have egg on my face. The real problem is that he's a pretty good heckler. A good heckler has to be pretty smart and Ben is. He has a good sense of humor and is pretty quick on his feet. Well actually his feet are slow as molasses, but that's just an expression that means he's quick witted. He is.
Fortunately for me, Ben allowed me to finish my talk with only a few interruptions. As I was finishing, Ben became more and more agitated and I was afraid he was having a seizure. But that was not the case at all. Ben was purposely agitating himself so he could kick my big white astronaut. Ben was ready to rumble and I had no clue.
So the dude rolled up and started to get out of his chair. Most folks didn't know what was going on, partly because it took him like five hours to get out of his chair, but I knew right away. He was coming for me, a wicked look plastered on his face. A look that said, "I will put YOU in a wheelchair!" Everyone thought it was just funny, but for me, it was life and death.
Dude was calling me out. I was thinking, I can take this punk. I will crush him like a bug, but shoot, I was wearing a white shirt, and was trying to project an image of a refined and respected Capernaum staff member. Wrestling with a crippled heckler like Ben would only drag me down in the muck with him. Pah!
But the problem was if I did NOT wrestle him, he would crow all over the planet about how John Koehler refused to wrestle Ben Brewer. Ben the Cripple Maker! My life as I knew it would be over and I could never show up at any Capernaum event without being laughed. Wait.... they already do that to me. I'm confused.
So what the heck, I wrestled him, after doing the requisite amount of verbal taunting and chest puffing. We locked up and proceeded to wrestle. People were yelling and laughing and I was fighting for my life. He was slow but he was BIG. Plus he cheated relentlessly. He knew he'd have a tough time beating me without cheating.... so he cheated.
The photo was taken during the middle of his patented "Pit Fall & Roll" move. He grabbed my head as he was rolling and shoved it into his armpit while he yelled, "Smell that and DIE!" I nearly did, no kidding. The smell was so bad that my muscles locked up and he was able to easily pin me. Ben Brewer did in fact pin me in Greenville, South Carolina on Friday, December 5 at approximately 7:30 PM. But in my book (and in this story), it was a cheap pin. I will be redeemed!
Ben reminds me of Alex a bit in that they both are intellectually smart and deep thinkers. So one of the things he does brew because of his intelligence is a deep introspection. Sometimes I think it is easier for guys with low intelligence to get by then guys like Ben and Alex who understand everything and have the capacity to wonder why they have to go through life the way they do.
I wish I could be more like Ben and if I could I'd be a better man. He is a big gentle bear soul of a man. Even if he likes to wrestle and compete in other man cub activities, he is full of grace, something that I am lacking in, except when I write. So maybe I should lock myself away and let folks see me only through my writing.... nah. No can do.
Look, I'm not pining away wanting to be like Ben. I just really respect the way he IS and the particular gifts God gave him cause no doubt he did and thanks be to God because Ben makes the world a much better place to be. Thanks Ben for your patience and understanding of MY disabilities and stupidity.
Oh yeah, watch your back, boy. Watch your back, because I'm coming for you, sonny boy. I'll be ready next time!
SST
The lift is ready oiled and steady
The doors in back are opened wide
So drive on slowly to the platform
Stow yourself inside
The engine's bumping music's thumping
They strap your wheelchair down
You feel the lightness in your head
The taxi's left the ground
The driver's Skeeter taxi's Fleeter
A supernatural star machine
Across the skies you fly oh my
The Kingdom now is seen
Without a word a little bird
Flies from your racing heart
You laugh and cry prepare to die
Your brokenness departs
Others there all stop and stare
Like you they live in moving thrones
Your hearts embrace the smiling face
You'll never be alone
You see the sun still on the run
But Skeeter uses rocket fuel
Now everyone can meet the Son
No matter if your faces drool
Come with me and soon you'll see
He tells you and the others too
Soon we'll fly eternally
First finish what I have for you
Show their hearts the way to start
The engine that's inside of them
Then Skeeter says we must depart
That's not the last we'll see of Him
So down you fly and bye and bye
You land again on terra firm
You roll on out the turnabout
Another lesson earned
Skeeter's Supernatural Taxi's home
Another silly earthbound van
But when it flies across the sky
You'll meet the Son of Man
on the SST
You'll meet the Son of Man
on the SST
