Blessed are the broken,
Blessed are the failures,
Who set out to do glorious things
Everest, Antarctica… higher, faster, stronger, first
Whose bright promise was praised
And they believed their press.
Who have schemed and striven and intrigued,
Only to find themselves with empty hands
After they wrestle though the night with the Mysterious One
Whose face they cannot see,
Who will not share his name,
Refusing to let him go unless he blesses them.
And then he does.
And this is the blessing:
He wrenches the tendon of the hip
So that, ever after, one walks with a limp.
Ah, what kind of blessing is this?
You have disabled me.
I will never run again.
Climbs will exhaust me.
I will have to leave shepherding to others.
And this was the blessing:
You slowed me down.
I can no longer walk miles
I have to be deliberate about where I walk.
I tire easily.
I have to choose my projects carefully
For I can now do so few of them.
I will forever limp through life:
And that is my blessing!!
Limping, slow enough to see beauty.
Walking at a child’s pace,
Slow enough to listen.
No more running, no more sprinting
Just limping, at this slow, measured pace,
My routes considered carefully.
I will now always need to ask for help
From the Nameless Great One who crippled me
Because I have to!
I cannot manage without it.
My limp sets me free
From having to climb, scale, ascend
I have time for people.
Delivered from running,
from the possibility of ever running,
I will now limp though
an examined, reflective, contemplative life,
keeping pace with the slowest of these, the youngest of these,
with Joseph, with Benjamin,
learning, at last, to love.