Eric Molinié has lived this phrase—a golden thread woven through the fabric of his daily existence. At thirty-one, Eric is the eldest of four children. He directs a financial institute, presides over the alumni association of a Christian community at a business school, and serves as treasurer of the French Association Against Myopathies. He lives with limb-girdle muscular dystrophy. His life teaches us to overcome the fear that so easily invades our hearts and to embrace the grace of the present moment.
As I prepared to write these pages, I had planned to read carefully John Paul II's encyclical on the Christian meaning of suffering, along with other philosophical texts that might have produced a handsome essay. Instead, I found myself entirely absorbed in preparing TELETHON—a televised fundraiser for people with muscular dystrophy. This was no accident. If I have anything worth offering you, it will be in witnessing the chain of events that gradually brought me to these words: "Do not be afraid, it is I who guide you."
I wondered whether this title might offend someone. It could give the false impression that everything has been easy for me: "God is leading me. How wonderful! No problems!" In truth, this phrase is an invitation to embrace, despite all difficulties, an inner attitude of trust on a journey that never ends. For me, this journey has had three chapters: a sensible childhood, a turbulent adolescence, and a confident maturity.
A Sensible Childhood
I was seven when a muscle biopsy revealed I had muscular dystrophy. Only now can I grasp the uncertainty and anguish my parents felt at that diagnosis. There are forty neuromuscular diseases, each with varying degrees of severity. No one could tell them which one had struck me.
Should you tell children the truth? I am grateful to my parents for not telling me everything. Instead, with great tenderness and gentleness, they helped me discover my own limits and how to live within them. Their worry never burdened me. They always wanted me to live normally, to go to school, to have friends. They never gave me special treatment. I only learned later that my mother, without my knowing, had quietly arranged for my classrooms to be on the ground floor and my routes to be as short as possible. I was naive—but it was a naivety that saved me. My good fortune was having a mother who didn't work, and now I can measure the hours she devoted to me.
"Do not be afraid—it is I who guide you" is an invitation to embrace, despite all difficulties, an inner attitude of trust on a journey that never ends
"Do not be afraid—it is I who guide you" is an invitation to embrace, despite all difficulties, an inner attitude of trust on a journey that never endsThe Lebanese poet Khalil Gibran captured well the role of parents: "Your children are not your own; they are the arrows by which you send yourselves into the future." Education means choosing the direction well and sending the arrow far and strong. My parents helped me reach where I am today. Physically, they taught me to conserve my energy—precious because it cannot be renewed. Spiritually, they helped me accept my limits and live with them always.
I soon needed help from others. In the first year of secondary school I could still stand and sit on my own, but two years later I had to ask two classmates to help me. Perhaps this taught me how to explain things. When someone is helping you to your feet, it is not easy to make them understand that your center of gravity must be in precisely the right spot. You need persuasion, a certain pedagogy, and a touch of charm. I learned something else: that human beings are made to live with others and for others. Those years when I received such friendship awakened in me a desire to give it back. I remember still the taste for beauty, for wonder. I played piano as long as I could. It is important to develop the imagination too. When the body cannot move, at least the spirit can.
A Turbulent Adolescence
Two phrases describe my adolescence. The first is this: "The fool says in his heart, 'There is no God'" (Psalm 14). I use "fool" in its etymological sense—someone who no longer sees meaning in his own life. During the years when the handicap seemed manageable, I would say to God: "It cannot get worse than this. I can adapt to this much, but no more." Yet the disease progressed, however slowly and gently. I rebelled. I refused to let people help me up and down stairs, even though it was terribly difficult to manage alone. I became a DJ at parties in Versailles, proud of the pleasant sense of power it gave me. I danced people until I nearly failed my final exams. I did not study and regularly turned in blank papers. My parents, respecting my need to learn, allowed me to reach the limit of this absurd logic.
The second phrase connects to the first—it is Christ on the Cross: "Why have you abandoned me?" A conversation with the headmaster of Sainte Geneviève changed everything. He looked at my report card and saw it was poor. Stung in my pride, I said, "I am worth more than this." He replied, "I don't know you, but I see your grades." After that, I realized that playing the misunderstood genius did not work, because I was the only one who thought I was a genius. So I started to work. At Sainte Geneviève, friendship and camaraderie were extraordinary. I have never suffered so little climbing and descending stairs, yet I have never had so many to overcome.
Those years when I received such friendship awakened in me a desire to give it back.
Those years when I received such friendship awakened in me a desire to give it back.There was another turning point. At the end of second year we had a retreat that, for many of us, meant a return to God. I felt Him asking me: "Why do you no longer love me?" And I answered: "Who are you to say you love me when you let me suffer?" The moment you speak to someone to ask who they are, the path opens.
At the end of that retreat I wondered whether God was obliged to heal me if I asked. I received no answer, but from that day on I began to speak with God as often as I could. I was not healed, and I have faced other trials of physical pain. Yet I have found the strength to bear them, and I hope to bear witness to the One who gives me life. Nothing stops me from asking Him the same question. But today I accept the mystery. God's answer is not necessarily mine. For me, every suffering is unjust and without meaning. Yet I affirm that, freely, we can give it meaning, make it our own, and witness to it.
A Confident Maturity
I then entered HEC business school. I was well supported by a group of friends and was very fortunate. It was there the famous "Do not be afraid, it is I who guide you" began. It was like entering a monastic life—with gentle rules, but framed by a weekly Mass and prayer group, active participation in the life of the Christian community, and long hours of meditation in my room. Sometimes I felt I was getting nowhere, wasting time. At first I thought, "I am involved in the Christian community because I can't have fun with my friends." But looking back now with distance, I see my commitment was not a consolation prize. I could have had fun in a limited way—say, through music. I think I went there because I wanted to. I discovered prayer through the Psalms. Like the psalmist, I learned to tell God everything I felt, without filter. After three years, I realized that an inner strength had transformed me and opened me to others. This strength was nourished by dialogue with God. I could say He was my Father, and I lived as His child, asking His advice and listening—the harder part. In the evening when I am tired, I simply say to Him: "Yes. Please. Thank you. Forgive me."
I have never suffered so little climbing and descending stairs, yet I have never had so many to overcome.
I have never suffered so little climbing and descending stairs, yet I have never had so many to overcome.I entered banking through a series of unexpected circumstances, but I believe in signs—signs that come when you least expect them. At the end of a retreat, as I was thinking, "Lord, I am about to enter working life. What will I do?"—I received a call from a dear cousin offering me this job as a financial consultant for one of his projects.
The sign was this: "Become who you are. You have a taste for finance. Go!"
At twenty-six—I was having increasing difficulty staying on my feet—I broke my tibia and fibula tripping on a curb. A fracture creates serious problems for someone with muscular dystrophy (muscular function cannot be recovered), and as I fell I cried out: "Do a miracle! Heal me!" As you see, the Psalms had taught me to say to God whatever came to mind. I spent the six months of rehabilitation in great peace. I had not asked Him to make the ordeal gentle and kind, yet He arranged for it to bear fruit. The bank installed screens and a telecopier so I could work. It was not the answer I expected.
After that accident I had to buy a wheelchair. I had never wanted to hear about one before. God continued to work on me gently. I discovered that sitting brought me the chance to "witness" at my desk and at professional gatherings—not by waving a banner, but with discretion, so that my life might inspire others to turn toward God. I use my handicap to move toward Him. But if I should be fortunate enough for my condition to improve through some therapy, I will find other ways. I am a fighter who must adapt to every challenge his body presents.
Today, looking back, I understand the meaning of the journey I have made and can measure its length. I have learned to live in the present moment. This handicap that stood between God and me has become the passage toward Him. The obstacle has become a bridge.
- Eric Molinié, 1992 - (O et L n. 98)
What the Parish Community Can Do for People with Handicaps
- Learn seriously about the complex reality of people with handicaps.
- Gather information about the presence and needs of handicapped people in the parish.
- Do what is possible to fill the gaps left by public and private services for handicapped people—support meaningful and empowering initiatives (accompaniment services for those who cannot move about alone, home care assistance, hospitality in family homes).
- Promote concrete initiatives also for awareness-raising (for example, the elimination of architectural barriers in the church).
- Include handicapped people in parish groups and activities.
- Help families of handicapped people emerge from isolation and anxiety through personal friendship.
- Ensure that the pastoral council always includes the voice of handicapped people and their families.
- Contact a Faith and Light group for guidance.