I met Scott

last week when I attended a week-long class at the police

academy. I entered the classroom just a few moments

before the class, a 40-hour block of instruction on field

training and supervision, and took a seat on the back row

near the door. My next-door-neighbor for a week would be

Scott.

He was a communications

officer for a North Georgia county and the first thing I

noticed was his wheelchair. You don't see many

wheelchairs in the police academy. The second thing I

noticed was that this young man was missing his left leg.

The third thing I noticed were the scars- in a sort of

quilt patchwork- on his arms.

I felt a bit awkward when I

realized that I was staring but Scott didn't seem to mind

or notice. He was probably used to people staring.

We quickly settled in to

the class and Scott turned out to be an excellent

conversationalist. Within a few hours, I actually forgot

that he was in a wheelchair. During a break, for some

reason Scott and I were talking about car accidents.

Scott shared that, nine

years ago, at the age of twenty-two, he was involved in a

terrible automobile wreck. Scott was trapped inside the

car when, following the collision, the vehicle burst into

flames.

Scott told me that he knew

he was going to die that night in the worst possible and

most horrifying way - trapped in a burning car and being

consumed alive by the searing flames. Somehow, Scott

survived the ordeal. In the process, he lost his leg and

experienced terrible burns.

For months he would endure

surgeries, painful rehabilitation, and skin grafts.

Eventually, he would be able to leave the hospital and

learn to live in a wheelchair. He would, through sheer

grit and guts, determine to return to work full-time as a

communications officer in his county.

Now, with a new

understanding and compassion, he would be the person who

would send the message to police, fire, and emergency

services personnel to respond to emergency situations. He

would be in touch, by radio, with every emergency, every

car wreck, every tragedy in the county. Every day would

bring fresh reminders of his own horrible experience and

personal pain.

Yet, if I was expecting to

see someone who had any bitterness or anger, I would have

to look elsewhere. After relating his story, Scott smiled

broadly and said, "Hey, I never expected to be here.

I'm just glad to be alive. Every day is like a free

gift!"

I would discover that

Scott's attitude was not the only unusual aspect of this

very interesting man. The next day, Scott was sharing

with me his disappointment that he hadn't been able to

bring down a deer during bow hunting season.

He must have seen the look

on my face because he went on to explain that, last year,

he had been successful in his quest to kill a deer in the

mountains of North Georgia... with a bow and arrow. It's

hard enough to hunt with a rifle, which he said that he

also does each season, but to bring down a deer with a

bow... well, that takes a special knack.

Later in the day, a woman

in the class was asking the students about putting up a

chain link fence. That's when I learned that Scott had

installed a chain link fence around his own five acres.

He didn't hire it done. He did it himself.

Scott goes to church,

drives himself everywhere, works 12-hour shifts as a

communications officer, and is a member of his county's

"search and rescue" team. A couple of years

ago, Scott married a girl ten years his junior and now

has two daughters. He said, "I can do almost

everything I want to do. I just have to figure out new

ways of doing it."

The only sign of distress I

noticed during the week was on Wednesday. Scott said,

"I think my wife is going to be upset with me

tonight." "Oh," I inquired, "why is

that?" Scott shared, "She wants me to go to

church tonight but I don't want to go." He related

that the church was bringing in a guest couple reported

to have an internationally known "healing

ministry."

Scott said, "You know,

it get tiring having everyone in the church feel sorry

for you and keep telling you that they are praying for

your healing. They just don't understand that I believe

that God spared my life nine years ago and I'm just happy

to be alive. One lady even laid hands on me and said that

the Lord showed her that she could `see me running in a

field, totally rerstored, with two good legs.' I guess

that I just don't have that kind of faith. And, you know,

after they pray for me, all I feel is guilt because I

know that they're disappointed in me for not getting out

of the wheelchair. Sometimes I think about changing

churches. Don't get me wrong... I wish I had both legs

and that the accident had never happened... but I am in

love with life. I just wish people would let me enjoy

being happy."

Scott continued, "It's

like they can't imagine being happy if they were in my

circumstances, so they don't see how I can be either.

They pray for me to be healed and I pray for them to

leave me alone." Then he flashed that big smile.

I learned something about

real faith last week. Not the pseudo-faith that demands

that God perform some act on our behalf or cause life to

be without care or adversity. Rather, I learned about the

kind of faith that reaches out in the lonely, solitary

hours of the dark night of the soul and grips an unseen

hand and refuses to let go. I learned about the kind of

faith that says, "I can do all things through Christ

who gives me the strength."

I learned about this kind

of faith not in Bible college, in seminary, or at the

large "faith conferences" so prevalent today. I

learned about this real and abiding faith in the life of

a young man who has been through the school of pain and

the seminary of adversity where the tuition was

frightfully high, and whose only diploma would be the

smile on his face, the joy in his heart, and the

satisfaction of a life lived to its fullest.

His gift to me was the

realization that this day is, indeed, a free gift.

[Father David Epps is a law

enforcement chaplain and Rector of Christ the King

Charismatic Episcopal Church, which meets each Sunday ay

10:00 a.m. in the Carmichael-Hemperley building on Hwy

74, in Peachtree City. He may be contacted online at [email protected] .