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[Back to index of April 2007 articles] Taking steps on the road to recovery By Anne Carson
A miracle has occurred since September 2006, when I wrote in Washington Window of my remarkable encounter with Alicia Cordell, the paralyzed opera singer whose water therapy teacher was Betty MacDonald of Christ, Durham. At the time of publication, Alicia had learned to let go of Betty’s hands and stand on her own. Then, one by one, her leg braces came off. As classes closed for winter semester, Alicia told me, “I never knew what a gift it would be to stand in church.” In January, I discovered to my delight that Alicia was taking my aquatics exercise class, taught once again by Betty MacDonald. There she was beside me, working like a ballet dancer in the water, her formerly lifeless legs pumping like newly charged pistons. Later, in the locker room, Alicia confided that her physical recovery actually began after attending a Daughters of the King healing service. Afraid that “crazy faith healers” might command her to “Be healed and walk;” she attended reluctantly. But “gnawing hunger” from within pushed her to join a session of intense prayer, and at the moment that the sign of the cross was made on her forehead, she became aware of a sense of empowerment. From that moment, she said she began to notice an acceleration in her physical improvement. After marveling over Alicia’s story, I left for a month, to study Spanish in Costa Rica and to seek solace from the depressing news in the headlines here.
Recalling the words of St. Peter: “We have been born anew to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead,” I joined Alicia and Betty in the class. They were dancing in the water now, not just walking. “You should see her taking communion at church!” Betty called out. Evil will not have the final word this Easter - or any Easter - I inwardly vowed. Superimposed over my image of our Lord’s empty tomb, in the hollowed space, is a vacant wheelchair. [Back to index of April 2007 articles]
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My return to Maryland was difficult. Doomsday predictions of global warming in the news, more war causalities. I dragged myself to Betty MacDonald’s aquatics class, pondering how Easter would play out in the midst of this global unrest. In the dressing room, I spotted Alicia’s empty wheelchair and breathed a deep sigh. The powerful image of Jesus’ empty tomb, which I saw when visiting Jerusalem some years ago with my mother, came to mind. In silence, we had climbed the hill to Golgotha, our hearts heavy. Upon entering the cave, sweetened by the scent of flowers blooming nearby, we saw a sign written clearly: He Is Not Here.