Every day I gun it to my son’s school, just so I can watch a woman with a limp walk down the sidewalk, across the street, and up the hill.
It’s fascinating.
It causes me to inch too close to the vehicle in front of me, or lag behind and leave gaping spaces between. Depends on the day and how long it takes for the car behind me to honk.
About the time I turn the corner, she’s walking around the one across the street. Her right leg has a bend in it that has to have been there since birth. I haven’t noticed any scarring, so I’d say she’s never had surgery.
So why does this woman fascinate me?
Oh I forgot to tell you, it’s not her alone; she’s walking with her husband and her little girl who’s in kindergarten. I know this because of the building they walk her to. (I’ve had experience in stalking.)
Their appearance shows they’re not wealthy. And if it wasn’t for her limp, I’d have never noticed them. I’d probably be watching the woman who wears the exact same pajamas to walk her kid to school in every day. I’m not kidding. The same ones. Every. Single. Day.
They swing around the corner, the little girl holding on to her daddy’s left hand, while he holds his wife’s in his right.
There’s something about that, that touches me. He doesn’t really walk any slower, in fact sometimes I giggle as I watch the little girl try to keep up, her Dora backpack bouncing around behind her, it’s literally as big as she is.
He doesn’t seem to feel sorry for his wife, he hasn’t enabled her by bringing their child to school and allowing her to stay home. Who knows? Maybe she’s a fighter and begs to walk the distance. It’s a stretch to walk.
He holds her hand, and they fall into step together. I love it. I can’t explain it any better than I have. Other than it reminds me a lot of how I see myself with God.
No, I don’t picture him in black work pants and a sleeveless shirt. In fact, I never see Him in worn workboots or tattooed. Scarred, in riding boots–awaiting the day He can jump on His horse and rescue me, yes. A robe. Absolutely.
See, I have a limp, too. A spiritual limp.
I’ve had it from birth. One day, I’ll have surgery and it’ll be perfected.
Some days I don’t want to go out of the house. I don’t want to be seen. Some days, I don’t want my weakness to slow me down from the journey before me.
But my Husband, He takes my hand, and He walks beside me. We walk around the corner, across the street, and up the hill. We do it every day. I trust Him to go the distance with me.
He’s never impatient, angry, or annoyed.
He simply strolls beside me. Holding my hand, occasionally squeezing it. Letting me know, He’s able to catch me if I stumble.
I love watching that woman with the limp. It reminds me of me. It reminds me, when I don’t think I have a single step left, I do. It may not be an even step, probably won’t be.
But I’ll be moving forward.
How about you?
“Then great multitudes came to Him, having with them the lame, blind, mute, maimed, and many others; and they laid them down at Jesus’ feet, and He healed them.” Matthew 15:30
