Every story has key turning points, moments where everything changes. Maybe it’s a sudden shift, taking place faster than a blink. Maybe it’s the culmination of years of gradual change, in a final dramatic reveal. I remember my eighth-grade homeroom teacher calling these moments “signposts” through a story arc and putting up posters of the central scenes in several books from the school year.
Looking back, I can see that reading My Body is Not a Prayer Request by Amy Kenny was one of these signpost moments in my own life. Rather than a flash of sudden change, finding Kenny’s wise words started a gradual expansion of my understanding of what it means to be a disabled person.
I’ve lived with cerebral palsy (CP) since birth. CP is a disability that can manifest in many forms, but for me it mainly affects my movement, balance, and coordination. It’s difficult for me to do many things that able-bodied people would consider “normal”, like climbing stairs, walking moderate distances, or carrying things with both hands.
While in college, I’ve had lots of time to think more deeply about the ways in which my disability affects all areas of my life. A professor friend of mine first recommended My Body is Not a Prayer Request after Dr. Kenny gave a talk at my school. I hadn’t been able to attend but was curious to hear what she had to say, so I accepted his extra copy of the book.
I’m typically a fast reader, and I devoured My Body is Not a Prayer Request with particular intensity. I don’t usually take notes in books, but the margins were soon overflowing with exclamation points, and almost every page has a section I underlined or bracketed for emphasis during that initial read.
One of the things I appreciated most about My Body is Not a Prayer Request was Kenny’s frank appraisal of disabled life. Throughout the book, Kenny challenges many ingrained assumptions her disabled or able-bodied readers may have.
For Kenny, whose disability is sometimes more and sometimes less visible depending on symptoms, one of the most persistent challenges is the existence of “Disability Doubters”, to whom she dedicates a full chapter of the book.
“My disabled body is subjected to interrogation whenever I enter the public sphere. Either from paperwork or from the police, at the grocery store or pumping gas, my body becomes public property. I am surveilled to confirm whether I am performing disability enough. And I realize that my white skin, my education, my marriage, and the physical nature of my disability shield me from the worst of it. Disability doubters are exhausting.” (p. 44)
The book is full of similarly incisive analysis about the experience of a disabled life. However, Kenny also skillfully weaves humor throughout, keeping the tone light enough for her wisdom to be approachable. She references Wonder Woman and Chariots of Fire, and lets us readers inside her flashbacks and imagined futures in a way that’s both intimate and hilarious.
Since my first read, I’ve come back to page through My Body is Not a Prayer Request periodically. For me, Kenny’s book has a Scripture-like quality, and is something I return to for words of assurance. In her witty prose, Kenny reminds me of things my heart knows are true but tends to forget. To sum up a beautiful declaration of her own rights from the middle of the book:
“My life is worth living, regardless of whether you accommodate me. I have the right to belong without being pitied… I have the right to flourish. To be considered an image-bearer equipped with my own gifts. To be a leader. To use my own voice instead of being a mouthpiece for what you want to say on my behalf. To not have to perform gratitude simply because you include me. I have the right to be human.” (p. 47-48)
I find Kenny’s voice refreshing. Although not all elements of her story match mine, it’s good to feel seen. My Body is Not a Prayer Request is a book that speaks to disabled life as honestly as I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure what it’s like to read Kenny’s book as an able-bodied person.
Kenny herself recognizes this tension, writing twin closing “benecriptions” for both disabled and non-disabled audiences. She closes the non-disabled “benecription” expressing a wish for common recognition of humanity.
“May you foster belonging wherever you are, knowing that the prophetic witness of the disability community is worth the cost. May you learn from disabled people what it means to be human.” (p. 186)
5 Responses
Thanks for this. There are so many ways that “doubters are exhausting,” and it’s good that we understand each others’ stories.
Thanks for this review. It’s a book that demonstrates the kind of awareness that society lacks about this topic.
Ethan, A group is studying the book in a Sunday school adult class. I do have several disabled people in my family but being disabled really hit me when my husband was both mentally and physically disabled from a car accident. His brain was damaged beyond repair. I was in the same accident and have been able to do most of the things I used to do after a time of recovery. We were both put into early retirement from our teaching at Dordt University. Of course, my life is different. My husband lived for nine years with this progressing disability. I really do appreciate what Kenny says, and it is important to all to know this. Thanks for doing a review of this important book.
Excellent work, Ethan. Thanks for reading and reviewing this important work and sharing your gift for reading and writing with a wide audience.
Ethan,
Great review–insightful and, like so much these days, timely. I think “May you foster belonging wherever you are” should be on every church sign. I’ve learned over the years of knowing you, Ethan, that you practice that principle on a daily basis, welcoming anyone on the margins into your friendship and community. Yours is an example I will never forget. Thank you for that, and thank you for this fine review.