Ordinary Girl By Heather Herschap

For years, my friends, professors, and colleagues tried to get me to write a book about my life and the direction it has taken. I smile and giggle a little bit and say what would I write about, at least in this season of my life? Watching TV? Then they rehearse the words that I’ve heard so many times before: you are an inspiration. So many people would learn and grow from your example. While I treasure all these compliments from all these people, I think it’s not deserved because I’m not some woman wearing a superhero cape. I’ve merely done what I felt God was calling me to do.

I’m just an ordinary girl that grew up in a house with two–parent s and a younger sister. My parents and extended family did not let my disability define me or limit me in any fashion. I was in mainstream classes and was usually a straight A student. My major struggle though was always my reading ability. My sister and I enjoyed going on scavenger hunts, building all kinds of forts, and making mud pies; our favorite activity though was starring in own our home videos. I also participated in piano lessons, girl scouts, and horseback riding lessons. I don’t think any of this is extraordinary; we were just an average family trying to make the best of what life has given us.

So what if I was born with Cerebral Palsy; we had fun! Many time people would look at me, and sometimes still do, as if I was hollow or not a human being. Eventually, we learned to ignore these looks but I know that in general persons with disabilities have all experienced this to some degree. Even at an early age I knew I wanted to help create an understanding between the disabled and the nondisabled so that there would be no more labels or categories, just humans. Everyone wants to be loved and accepted with the gifts and abilities we been given. In 1998, I moved from south Texas to attend Baylor University. This is where I grew more autonomous, and somewhat more efficient. The first week of school I got my right arm stuck between the bed and the wall; it was 3 A.M., and my assistant had already gone home so all I could do was yell for help. My efforts led nowhere, so I crawled to the phone and got the receiver with my teeth. I dialed the front desk of my dormitory for help. With my speech impediment, this proved to be a little bit of a challenge. The people at the front desk thought I was a kid prank calling; soon I realized that convincing them that I was really a freshman student was futile, and I stopped.

In desperation, I remember praying to God, who I didn’t really know at that point, asking him in a bargaining tone, to help me out of this predicament, one of many difficult situations that week. Then, I heard a voice. Keep in mind I was the only one, the only human in the room. But I heard a voice say, “Don’t give up.” Just after this, someone came through my bathroom door and helped me back on the bed. I knew either I was going crazy or that was the voice of God. I know that it was the latter. Four days later I found 7th and James Baptist Church. Over the next six months, I asked a lot of questions and had a lot of conversations and went to a lot of Bible studies – I did everything I could to learn more about God, so I could figure out why God spoke to me. The Sunday morning on Valentine’s Day, the service was about unconditional love. After a series of distinct rhetorical questions, I heard a yes from God as to indicate it was time for me to give him all that I had; I gave my life to Christ that day and vowed to follow him.

Just before I graduated, with a psychology degree, God told me we’re going to seminary. I planned to do Christian counseling. But in the middle of my seminary training, again at a church service, God said one word: “India”. I began to pray and research the country. Two weeks after that particular experience, I met the director of WorldConnex, who told me all about Provision Asia: Provision is an organization that helps the disabled in India who would normally be isolated and abandoned by family and society. They aided by helping persons with disabilities get physical therapy, job training, job placement and a little bit of motivational counseling. The latter is where I come in. A year and a half later, in 2005, I flew to India for the first time. It’s hard to explain, but three days later, I knew I had found my nitch, so I went to India again the next summer.

In India, I see faces of the disabled, young and old, those who weep because their husbands just left them; those who smile to hide deep disappointment they feel because it is their responsibility as young women to get married and raise a family, but they are unable to do so; the faces of the isolated who would rather be isolated then face torment from society, the faces of those who are suicidal because of the hatred felt by many towards the disabled. Often, I don't know what to say to them because even though we both have a disability, I am from the west and I have a family who loves and supports me just the way I am. So I mutter a quick prayer and God gives me something to say.

I left India but India has not left me. I’ve been though the required missionary training to go back long term for at least a year, and then we’ll see where God wants me. I am living with my parents again. I have been living with my parents for the last 8 months waiting on someone to step forward and be my caregiver and coworker to go with me: someone who loves the disabled and India as much as I. Until then, I’ve learned a very hard lesson about waiting. I don’t really like it. I don’t know anyone who does. There’s a certain amount of growing that occurs when one is waiting. I’m not necessarily growing more independent, but rather dependent, not on relatives or anyone else, but on God.