The Power of Faith When Tragedy Strikes

by Chris Norton

  Chris defied the odds and regained more movement than the doctors ever expected. He didn’t just pop up and take off, but he continued to make gains and surpass his prognosis. Whenever I got impatient with Chris’s recovery, I thought back to where he was one, two, or three years prior and it helped, because sometimes I needed a conscious reminder of how far he’d come. I couldn’t compare post-injury Chris to pre-injury Chris, because if I tried, I’d never have found peace until he was 100 percent recovered. I had to adjust my mind and be thankful we didn’t lose him that beautiful October day. Chris Norton was Chris Norton, regardless of his level of recovery, because he never let the accident define him.

  Since he missed a year of school, Chris’s original class of friends graduated a year ahead of him, and when they moved out of the dorm their senior year, as a testament to their character, they checked in with Chris first. Deb and I naturally worried how Chris would do with the change.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll get some new guys in here, no big deal.” And he did.

  When Chris initially went back to college, we taught one or two kids how to help him, two or three more learned, and each year, that number multiplied. His friendship circle eventually grew to include a number of younger kids who moved into his dorm cluster, so his friends handed off the torch before graduation, easing our minds.

  While in college, Chris had more on his plate than most adults. I encouraged him to find a balance between school and speaking, but as he matured and got older, it was harder to focus on school. When he looked at what was more important—an A versus a B and the opportunity to speak to and potentially motivate someone—there really was no choice. His goal was to succeed at school the way he succeeded in all aspects of his life, but he understood that his message of hope meant more than his GPA. Despite everything on his plate, his grades suffered only slightly due to his therapy hours, motivational speaking, and the foundation. Chris continued to achieve high marks, spending several semesters on the Dean’s List and graduating with a cumulative 3.4 GPA.

  Chris continued to live life to the fullest. During his junior year, he went to Panama City Beach for spring break with his buddies. When his doctor asked how he got everything arranged, Chris answered, “My parents just make it happen.”

  Luther offered a January term between the end of the first semester and the beginning of the second semester where students did an internship or studied abroad. Chris flew to Seattle and spent three weeks at Microsoft, Google, Facebook, and other high tech companies up and down the west coast. When he first mentioned the idea of going, we knew it would take some arranging, but we didn’t want him missing a fabulous experience just because it required some effort.

  I worried about Chris’s perfectionist tendencies. Already carrying a lot of responsibility and a full schedule, in his senior year, he also served on the board of directors for the Neurological Recovery House in Rochester, Minnesota, a foundation started to provide accessible housing for people with neurological disorders. Toward the end of his college career, I told him to slow down, put everything else on the back burner, and finish strong in school.

  Chris continued to have an amazing attitude and a thoughtful process for determining what he wanted to get involved in. He literally wore me out in a good way because there were days or weeks where he’d call, e-mail, or text me three or four times a day, and never about himself.

  Here’s what we need to do for the neurological recovery house.

  Here’s a situation going on with this individual.

  Here’s a thought for our next fundraiser.

  His mind was going all the time, and I spent many days trying to reel him in because he was spreading himself too thin. Given the alternative, I’d rather try to reel him back than try to light a fire under him, but the realist in me always attempted to cool his flames. His energy, drive, and passion for others inspired a lot of people.

  Once the foundation began receiving grant requests and our knowledge increased on how much need was out there, our goals kind of exploded. Before Chris’s injury, I didn’t know anything about spinal cord injuries, and I had no idea how far behind so many rehab facilities were in terms of equipment. Our goals went from doing one event and purchasing some equipment for facilities in our area to realizing the global nature of the issue. People in Las Vegas, Florida, as well as Canada, Australia, and Sri Lanka contacted me about putting in applications.

  The scope of need was overwhelming. We had to pick what we could bite off and chew, but it helped expand our thinking and broaden our mission and goals. There were other non-profits geared toward spinal cord injury research, some geared toward providing direct therapy, and some provided needed funds to individuals. SCI CAN was pretty unique in that we didn’t give to individuals, but to organizations to provide therapy to as many people as possible.

  Our ultimate goals for SCI CAN included getting to the point where we could pay Chris as executive director and hire additional staff as needed. The time commitment continued to grow more than full-time working people could reasonably handle. Other goals remained to support buying much-needed equipment on a local, regional, and national level; the establishment of a much-needed state-of-the-art facility in Des Moines; and to make sure the Neurological Recovery House in Rochester got started and grew nationally. While there was no official connection between the Neurological Recovery House and SCI CAN, we partnered together to run their first event and supported their efforts to get the house started.

  Deb and I had a path we were on at the time of Chris’s injury. I pictured us watching Chris play Saturday college football games, Alex graduating from college, and Katie finishing high school. God had other ideas. Chris’s injury sent us down a road we hadn’t anticipated. I never expected we’d start a foundation, or in two and a half year’s time, Chris would have spoken to over forty different organizations, and we would have raised over $375,000 to benefit others.

  The sense of accomplishment we felt from conceptualizing the foundation to executing the fundraiser to presenting the money was indescribable. Every time we distributed grant money, I was overwhelmed by our good fortune. Whenever I focused on day-to-day worries with Chris’s recovery, wishing he’d go further and that his path was smoother, I’d take stock of the equipment we’d provided and the impact we’d made on people, most of whom we’d never meet. It really helped me find a purpose behind his injury.

  People often asked, “How do you work all day and then spend almost every other moment working on the foundation?”

  My answer was simple. “We take one day at a time.”

  Every Saturday morning, Deb and I worked on the foundation over coffee, and I’d also work at night. Hearing the positive impact from others kept me going when I started to wear down and feel like I was burning the candle at both ends. For instance, when a grandmother told me how much her six-year-old granddaughter’s handgrip had improved because of the equipment we’d provided, she gave me that extra boost of energy to power through, and I felt so grateful for God’s plan.

  When Chris was first injured, our focus in terms of his quality of life, level of accomplishment, and success was based mostly on the physical. I was ultra-focused on Chris becoming functionally independent, meaning Chris would walk again and basically make it back to 100 percent. Over time, by simply watching the impact he had on others, I learned to appreciate that the quality of his life wasn’t tied directly to his physical recovery.

  I still prayed and hoped every day that he’d continue to recover and eventually walk, but my focus shifted from the physical to the emotional. Chris’s quality of life came to mean more about him being surrounded by people who loved him, being in a position to make a difference and have an impact, and being a role model for others. It didn’t happen overnight, but the shift represented our acceptance, peace, and deep awareness of the value of every human life.

  By the two-year anniversary of Chris’s injury, I realized in many ways the accident was a
blessing. Chris really helped me come to terms with that when he said if he could go back and change the play, if he could go back and change those few seconds that altered his life so drastically, he wouldn’t because he was a better person because of it. Hearing those words really encouraged me because I needed to know that he was okay with his life.

  When I thought about everything that had happened to us since his injury—the foundation, the growth of Deb’s faith, and a profound change in my own faith—none of those things would have happened if it weren’t for the accident. If Chris could look back and take stock of his life before and after and appreciate all the good that had come out of his misfortune, I could certainly do the same. And when I did, it was easy to see the blessings and God’s hand at work in our lives.

  On the three-year anniversary of Chris’s injury, he tweeted: Three years today is when my life changed forever but changed for the best. This has made me a better person. Honestly, I didn’t know if that statement was prayer driven, but the person who needed to hear that the most was his dad.

  In my mind, by three years out, he was supposed to be 100 percent. So for me, each year was harder as I realized the severity of his challenge. It was harder for me over time, while it got easier for Deb. Reading his tweet was a crucial moment for me, because I really needed to hear that in the totally unsolicited manner in which it came.

  Knowing he felt blessed was an extraordinary gift because it lifted a burden from my shoulders. When Chris said something, he meant it—he wasn’t blowing smoke or doing it for attention. Considering the day-to-day physical challenges he faced and the fact that people were hardwired to be self-centered, his was a pretty tremendous statement.

  One of Chris’s main goals was to drive. He longed to do the most mundane tasks on his own, tasks most of us took for granted. Relying on others hindered his independence, especially as graduation loomed. The biggest hurdle in his quest to drive wasn’t physical, but financial. Our insurance covered a third of the cost, but the remainder needed to come out of our pocket or through fundraising, and Chris didn’t want to focus our efforts inward.

  While it was easy to solicit money for the foundation or to fund raise for somebody else, we weren’t going to organize a fundraiser to purchase a van for our son. Not long before Chris graduated, a Decorah restaurant owner told Chris it was time for the restaurant owner to get some people in the community together to start working toward raising money for his vehicle. His comment was representative of how supportive and loving the Luther College and Decorah area were to Chris and our family. Our gratitude for that town continued to run wide and deep.

  If everything that happened to Chris was only about seeing him graduate from college and making some progress in therapy, I wouldn’t have had the peace and optimism I had about his future. About all of our futures. I liked to think that the equipment we gave changed people’s lives, and maybe somebody out there who was discouraged and ready to give up heard Chris’s story and turned their life around because of it.

  As a result of our journey, we were more compassionate. We suddenly looked at people and asked, “How can we help? What can we do to make a difference?”

  I like to think that while we benefited, so did all the friends Chris had in college, those who helped take care of him and returned to their hometowns with a better sense of community and knowledge that people with injuries, disabilities, or handicaps were no different than others. They learned that Chris was just like everybody else, and that in a split second, they could be in the same situation.

  Chris’s beautiful girlfriend, Emily, didn’t know him before he was hurt. Their relationship alleviated two of my biggest fears—that women would care too much about his physical limitations and not see him for the person he was. Emily saw Chris for Chris; she never saw the chair, and she wasn’t intimidated by his circumstances or uncomfortable around him. That meant the world to Deb and me, especially because she was such a wonderful person.

  * * *

  “We have such a strong connection and I could tell when I first met him how incredible of a person he was. He is so determined, funny, caring, and he has such a strong faith. I wasn’t going to pass up all of that because he was in a wheelchair.”

  ~ Emily Summers, Chris’s girlfriend

  * * *

  Like Chris, Emily wanted to make a difference in the world. She always thought about what she could do for other people and how to get involved. Deb and I loved Emily for the wonderful person she was and for the way she cared deeply about Chris. It was a true joy welcoming her to our family and watching their relationship blossom.

  Chris’s story touched people in many different ways. People battling depression, people who’d given up on going to church, people who’d given up on therapy all told me what a difference Chris’s story made in their lives. Some told us about their co-workers or relatives struggling with a variety of ailments—physical and emotional—who took Chris’s story and used it as inspiration to follow a different path. A guy I used to work with had a sister who’d given up on the church. She’d faced challenges in her life and felt as if God wasn’t there for her. He used Chris’s story as a gentle nudge that helped get her back to church.

  So many stories were shared with us along the way—people from all walks of life and from all over the country—at times when we were fighting the battle and feeling a little down. I watched people treat Chris with compassion and caring in ways I never realized were possible. Our family’s experience renewed our faith in the goodness of people and the ability we all had to make a difference.

  I do believe what happened to Chris happened for a reason, because it was impossible to think otherwise when I examined the spider web of how everything seemed inter-connected. His injury afforded an opportunity to provide better services and care for so many people with spinal cord injuries. For example, I know that within two years of SCI CAN’s formation, over three hundred people had benefited from the equipment. When the ripple effect was taken into account, the number increased exponentially.

  After Chris spoke at Loras College, he received a message from a girl whose sister was contemplating suicide. She was so moved by his speech, that she called her sister and shared his story, and it changed the course of her life. We couldn’t look at the examples we received on a weekly basis and say there wasn’t a purpose behind what happened. Our minister once said that events in our lives could either define us or inspire us, and I truly believed that event did not define Chris, but inspired him.

  * * *

  Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.

  ~Proverbs 3:5-6 NIV

  * * *

  WITH THE foundation up and running, my plans for the future taking shape, and a beautiful, caring woman by my side, I set my sites on graduation. Convinced I’d walk out of the hospital after months at Mayo, I was forced to readjust my plans and set more achievable goals. Years later, after four years in therapy, I publically set a new goal on my blog that received front page coverage from The Des Moines Register: to walk across the stage at graduation in May 2015.

  I continued to improve in weekly therapy with Lisa Krieg at Euro-Team, but I knew in order to succeed, I needed more than the four hours of training I was getting and to think outside the box. Emily heard of an intense trainer, Mike Barwis, who’d helped two paraplegics walk again. While I’d seen the story of Brock Mealer, one of the paraplegics Barwis helped, on ESPN and the Big Ten Network, I never looked into it. Emily discovered that Mike Barwis had his own gym called Barwis Methods Training Center in Plymouth, Michigan, and she encouraged me to contact him, but I wasn’t sure how to connect.

  After e-mailing Barwis Methods through their website in February 2014, I was added to their year-long waiting list. Determined and impatient to make contact, I reached out to Brock Mealer through Facebook. I messaged him and introduced myself, told him my story, and shared m
y desire to work out at Barwis Methods. I wasn’t trying to cheat the system, but intuition told me I had to go to Barwis Methods at whatever cost. Brock helped connect me to the right people in order to get on the schedule for an evaluation, and not a moment too soon. A reality TV show, American Muscle, based out of the gym and the work done there, aired on the Discovery Channel in July 2014, bringing Mike and the facility much deserved attention.

  On August 18, after months of trying to sync our schedules, I got an e-mail from the gym saying there was a time slot available in the morning on August 21. Despite having to make the twenty-hour round-trip drive on a few days’ notice, I agreed to the appointment. After lining up a ride from Decorah to the airport in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, to pick up Emily upon her return from Florida, we drove to Michigan for the one-hour evaluation. After the session, we drove to Rochester, Minnesota, because we had a big fundraising event for SCI CAN on Saturday night.

  The session went better than I could have imagined. Mike was intense and intelligent. Without knowing my background, or me, he demanded I give him my all. I knew he was going to push me past my limits, which I desperately wanted, and I also learned that the number of people he’d helped walk again were not a few, but over fifty. The one-hour session soon turned into a four-hour intense workout. He confidently told me that after four to five weeks in his program, I’d be a changed man. I was sold, exhausted, and unbelievably optimistic.

  Mike Barwis had a great understanding of how the body worked and the motivating factors to push patients to the extreme. After the evaluation, I made plans to finish school early and start my training in January 2015. Upon completing my graduation requirements in December, I eagerly anticipated the move to Michigan and the ability to focus on rehab through the winter and spring. Emily and I found an affordable two bedroom, one bath accessible apartment, packed a U-Haul trailer, and made the eight-hour drive to begin the program.