It’s been eight weeks and still I limp. My doctor assures me that the fractures to my pelvis are healing nicely, and still I limp. I’ve lost the crutches and the cane, and still I limp. Yesterday I took my first few pedal strokes on a stationary bike. It felt good, that familiar rhythm, but still … I limp. I cannot stand that I am not immediately aware of my injury – drawn to remembrance – tweaked with a bit of pain or doubt. I am assured that I will ride again, but at eight weeks, I wonder about the limp. Physical therapy promises complete renewal, but therapy implies time and I am impatient, and so I limp along with a special affection for Jacob, who never lost his limp. He did not rise a single morning without a reminder that he was not the same man he once was. All the grandkids knew that you couldn’t play hard with grandpa. He had quite a story, and all Jacob’s children heard it – they still do. The schemer who wrestled with his brother, and his uncle, now wrestled with God in desperation. Jacob received God’s gracious blessing, a new name, and a limp – an inescapable reminder of a long-standing promise.
Reposted with permission from onehope.net.