Ability Is What I See

Between the Roots has me thinking about ability. I do not let disability define me anymore. I say anymore because there was a time when I did. I used to use my disability as an excuse not to do things. Not because I was lazy. Not because I did not care. It was because my mental health was controlling so much of what I believed about myself. Depression has a sneaky way of taking something real, like disability, pain, limits, or exhaustion, and then adding its own commentary on top. Very rude. Like an unwanted narrator in your head with a fog machine and terrible lighting. For a while, I listened to it. I would look at something hard and think, "I can't do that." Sometimes I had not even tried yet. I had already decided the answer before the question finished speaking. Disability became the reason. Depression became the voice. Fear became the fence. And I just stood there inside it, acting like the fence was the whole world. But God did not leave me there. As depression stopped defining everything I believed about myself, I started seeing something different. I started seeing ability. Not perfect ability. Not "jump out of bed and conquer the day while birds braid my hair" ability. Real ability. God-given ability. The kind that looks at a problem and says, "Well, this might get weird, but let's try." And I do try. I push past what I think my ability is. I try new things all the time. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it does not. Sometimes it half works, falls sideways, makes a strange noise, and teaches me that my first plan was built by a committee of tired squirrels. But even then, I do not want to stop and say, "That's my limit." I want to ask, "What did I learn? What can I change? How can I make this work for me?" That question has helped me grow. Because disability does not always mean I cannot do something. Sometimes it means I cannot do it that way. Sometimes I need more time. Sometimes I need help. Sometimes I need a tool, a brace, a strap, a scooter, a chair, a rest, a snack, or a whole new plan with fewer dramatic explosions. But needing a different way does not mean there is no way. And maybe you need to hear that too. Your limit today may not be your limit forever. It may just be where you are starting from. It may be the place where God begins showing you another way forward. You may have believed things about yourself because of depression, fear, pain, disability, or the words other people spoke over you. I know what that feels like. I know how easy it is to shrink your life down until it feels safer not to try. But safe is not always the same as alive. God gives ability in different shapes. Some people run. Some people roll. Some people build. Some people listen. Some people pray through pain. Some people create beauty out of scraps. Some people survive storms quietly and still manage to offer kindness. Ability is not always loud. Sometimes it shows up wearing work gloves, holding duct tape, whispering, "Try again, but maybe less upside down this time." I am learning that my disability may shape how I live, but it does not get to define who I am. Depression may have once controlled the way I saw myself, but it does not get to hold the pen forever. God sees more in me than I used to see in myself. He sees more in you too. So I keep trying. Not because I have no limits. Not because every attempt works. Not because I am trying to prove something to everyone watching. I keep trying because every attempt teaches me. Every adjustment grows me. Every failure shows me another angle. Every small step reminds me that ability is still there, even if it has to take the scenic route. Disability may be part of the story. But ability is what I see growing Between the Roots. And if the first way does not work, maybe that is not the end. Maybe it is just God handing you a pencil, pointing at the plan, and saying, "Let's draw another way."