I really wanted to go to church on Sunday morning.
Sure, I could have watched the service online from the comfort of Dan and my house, but I wanted to be at Immanuel Lutheran Church with my church family. But alas, I did not make it.
It was raining.
Most people don’t think twice about heading outside on a rainy day. They can grab an umbrella, put on a raincoat, or grin and bear a little water, but they go on with their routine. But for me, and many others who rely on mobility devices, rain is more than just an inconvenience—it’s a barrier.
More than 20 years ago, Multiple Sclerosis took away my ability to walk, but my power wheelchair (my chosen mobility device) gives me the freedom to move. It allows me to be independent, to go where I want and need to go. Yet, that freedom comes with limits—especially when the weather turns against me.
Unlike those who can shake off a little rain, I have to think about the risks it brings. Water and power wheelchairs don’t mix well. Too much moisture can damage my chair’s electrical components.
And trust me: Dan and I learned that lesson the hard way during a relentlessly rainy rivalry football game between our Central Michigan University Chippewas and the abhorred Western Michigan University Broncos.
My power wheelchair just stopped working
The rain during that early November night game was steady and strong. Even the CMU Sports Information recap about the game opened with, “Central Michigan University made history on a night that threatened to be more memorable for the weather conditions.”
It had been raining long before kickoff, but Dan and I were determined to tough it out because so much was riding on this game. Not only was it a home game against a fierce rival, but a victory would also elevate CMU to the Mid-American Conference Championship game.
But the rain kept falling. And falling. And falling. Harder. And harder.
Midway through the first quarter, knowing the risks of the rain impacting my chair, we conceded and realized it was time to pack it up and go home.
But it was too late. I hadn’t adequately protected my power chair, and, yes, just as I rolled out of the stands and onto the main concourse at Kelly/Shorts Stadium, my 400+ pound wheelchair shorted out and just stopped working. Dan had to push it—and me—several hundred yards back to our van in the stadium parking lot.
Incidents like this teach you valuable lessons you learn from and never forget. So, forgive me if I didn’t want to go to church in the rain.
Empathy can break down accessibility limitations
I wish making things accessible wasn’t limited to ramps and automatic doors, but also extended to things to overcome real, everyday challenges like dealing with the weather.
It’s frustrating. It’s isolating. It means missing out on things that matter—like church, grocery runs, or simply enjoying fresh air. I wish more people understood this.
Imagine your car breaking down or, worse yet, your legs just shorting out in the middle of a storm with no way to fix them. That’s what I risk every time I go out in the rain.
Then there’s more than the simple practicality of staying dry. Most sidewalks and parking lots aren’t designed with wheelchair users in mind. Puddles become unexpected obstacles. Umbrellas don’t help much when you need both hands to maneuver a chair. Even the best rain gear can only do so much.
Because for me, rainy days don’t just bring water—they bring limitations. And that’s something I wish more people knew.
So, the next time you step out into the rain, think of those of us who can’t. And if you see someone in a wheelchair out on a wet day, offer to help with an umbrella, clear a path, or just acknowledge that what seems like a simple drizzle to most actually whips up a wicked storm of obstacles for others.