To Cleveland and Back
It was probably 15 years ago, maybe longer. I was pushing Noah in his wheelchair into our church. We were members there, recent converts, both Noah and me. And our daughter, Tasha, a foster kid that we adopted, had her First Communion there, too. People knew us and we were comfortable with the wheelchair and how to maneuver to take Noah to the altar for communion. One Sunday, as we trundled to...