About a week before the Charlie Kirk memorial Scott was convinced we needed to attend. “This moment is going to change history and we need to be there for it. God has something there for us.”
Little did I know how much it would affect my life.
On Sunday morning we woke up early, leaving our hotel with “plenty” of time. I’m not on social media so I had no idea that there had been people camping at the stadium since the night before. The closer we got the more traffic we sat in.
Our goal? The handicap parking just outside the stadium. At about 1.7 miles from the entrance to the yellow lot we were at a standstill. We kept telling each other, “God is going to put us where we need to be, even if it’s in the overflow.” Scott was still convinced that we would make it inside the doors of the State Farm Stadium to be in attendance.
As the minutes passed and droves of people walked by us, I made the comment, “If we were walking people I think this would be a great place to park.” In my mind, 1.7 miles isn’t that far and there was still plenty of parking at 6:15 in the morning. I was in no way suggesting that Scott walk. Scott walks with crutches because of a birth defect that has made his left leg completely immobile. Meaning the entire weight of his body rests on his palms when he walks.
Within two minutes of this statement Scott had made up his mind. We were done waiting for the traffic to move. We were going to move. So we pulled out of the line of cars, which by this time was twice as long, and turned around to find parking.
Arizona is hot in the mornings, like you instantly start sweating kind of hot. But Scott was determined, he wasn’t going to miss what God was going to do. So we started to walk.
While in the car I saw an elderly couple pass us, only 100 yards from our car I saw them walking back. I asked the lady, “We saw you earlier, what changed your mind? Why are you walking back?”
“It’s too far!” She told me with sadness in her voice, “I just had my knees replaced and it’s over two miles to get to the stadium. I can't make it.”
Naively, I thought she was exaggerating… she was not.
Scott stuck to a good pace for him, which was slower than most people were going. All around us people parted and walked around. Some patted him on the shoulder as they walked by, “Man, you are an inspiration! If you can do it, we definitely can!”
Droves of people passed us, but I wasn’t worried about them getting there before us. I was worried about Scott. Sweat was beading on his forehead as his cheeks turned red. Every step was effort, every movement purposeful. I could tell that he was in pain. I didn’t know from what, his palms pressing against his crutches, his right foot taking all his weight for such a long distance, or his shoulders and arms.
About a mile in, we stopped to adjust his right shoe because it was too loose. When I stood up after helping him I looked him right in the eye, “Are you okay? What do you want to do?”
I could tell the battle was raging in his mind, comfort and conviction coming head to head. Conviction won the day as he said, “We have to keep going.”
About this time we started noticing more and more people going the opposite direction of the flow of people. When the crowds around us asked why they were going back the answers varied but all were discouraging.
“There’s no more room! I’ve been here since five and the line hasn’t even moved.”
“Go back while you can! They are starting to line up for the overflow.”
“You aren’t going to get in. I’m not sure it’s worth all the effort.”
I remember the moment when the weight of these reports and the pain in his body collided. We were standing at an intersection waiting to cross. Scott crossed his arms resting his palms which at this point were bright red. He looked at me dejected, discouraged by the reports and contemplating turning around. But looking at how far we had come, the walk back would be more than difficult, under the crushing weight of disappointment it would be impossible. But this isn’t what made the decision for us.
Scott wanted my thoughts. In all transparency my thoughts were centered on my husband’s well being which at this moment wasn’t great. I could see the pain in his eyes as he looked at me. I knew we weren’t even close to the start of the line. I wanted to say, “Stay right here I’ll go get the car!”
I don’t know why I didn’t say that.
Instead I said, “Pray about it.”
The light turned green and Scott walked across. I followed behind him, partly to make it easier for people to pass us, partly to keep them from running him over or tripping him up. Now I was following him as we took step after step away from comfort in faith. I heard the Lord speak to me, “Charissa, the impartation is in the effort it takes to get there.”
That’s when I knew - that what God wanted to give us wasn’t waiting in the stadium, it wasn’t in the worship or the messages people would bring. It was in the journey it would take to get there, the determination, the unwavering faith that God would see us through even if we were turned away at the door like all the naysayers said as they passed us.
When I caught up to Scott, who had momentarily left me behind, I mentioned to him what I felt the Lord was saying. He didn’t stop moving, “I heard that too. Let’s go.”
So we went. Step by step all the way to the line. We were able to enter and the people around us embraced our struggle, offering a chair for Scott to take a break on, water for us to drink and good conversation. It took us fifty minutes to reach the line and then another two and a half hours until we walked through the stadium doors and found a seat.
Honestly I didn’t think we would make it. By the time Scott sat down he was so exhausted his leg buckled underneath him. I will be forever changed by the lesson Scott’s walk taught me about faith and conviction. We traveled roughly three miles on foot, stood in line (because Scott’s left leg doesn’t touch the ground this can be just as taxing as walking) and searched for a seat. The whole time Scott did not complain. He kept moving forward, even though every step made it impossible for him to go back. He didn’t give up, he trusted that God was going to get us there. The impartation was in the journey.
Not only did we get to be a part of history, honoring a wonderful man of God, we got to witness God come through for us every step of the way.