Inspire Entertainment Magazine Spring 2014 - Vol. 4 | Page 67

Inspirational

A Life Resurrected in

Jesus Christ
Christopher Coleman talks about his unconfined life.
By Tonya Stoneman

W

hen he was born, doctors declared Christopher Coleman
dead and placed him on a steel table at the back of the
delivery room, in order to tend to the birth of his twin
sister. But when she was delivered 15 minutes later, the
doctors heard two babies crying: Coleman was very much alive, and he
wanted everyone to know it. The traumatic birth left him with cerebral
palsy—a fact that has led to a deep sense of alienation from the surrounding world. Learning to embrace the solitary life has been key to
his emotional and spiritual survival. But it hasn’t always been easy.
Visit Coleman at home today and you’ll have to look down to greet
him: when he’s not seated in a wheelchair, he moves around the house
on his hands and knees, positioned in a constant posture of humility.
As a child, the injustice of his condition was too much for him. Only a
dog moves around on all fours, he told himself. And when his siblings’
friends looked at him strangely, he barked at them as a way of dealing
with the embarrassment. But the now-38-year-old sees his experience
differently: “Most people stand, but when I get up in the morning, God
brings me to my knees,” he said. “He reminds me there’s nothing I can
do without Him.”
Classified as mentally disabled at birth, Coleman attended a special school, but his teachers did not instruct him there. Instead, they parked his wheelchair in a corner and ignored him all day, every day.
When he was thirsty, he dehydrated. When he had to use the restroom, he soiled himself. If he had
questions about life or school, he answered them himself.
During those lonely hours, he began hearing the voice of God. He knows the connection was real, because when his conversations with the Lord began, he was far too young and spiritually unaware to
construct the thoughts that came into his mind. He still remembers the voice that resonated in his
head and heart, moving him, even then, toward where he is now: You’re going to be okay. I have a
plan for your life.
As time went on, he talked to God more and more. “I shared with Him the feelings I had when I saw
everyone around me—they were mobile and able to communicate, but I wasn’t,” he recalled. “I didn’t
understand what made me different. But He kept telling me, ‘It’s okay. It’s not always going to be like
this. Things will change.’” Gradually, his prayers shifted from asking God, “How will You get me out of
my body?” to “How can I serve You with my body?”
For Coleman, the purpose of his suffering came into focus bit by bit with each passing year, marked by
surprising victories. Hidden away behind the barrier of his disability, he watched how his siblings lived
and, when they were asleep, crawled into their bedrooms, took their books, and taught himself to read.
During the day, as he sat for hours in the corner of the classroom, he would visualize in his mind the words he’d