just as I have begun to hope that the fracture along the bone has begun to mend, I wake up broken again, the pain snaking down the outside of the ankle and curling over the top of the foot. I find the ace bandage, regard the words stamped on it–place this side next to the skin.
Begin to wrap the foot…comfort. Nothing is truly healed. The pain remains. Only no longer without recourse. Swaddling this broken bit of bone so it at least will not have to support the full weight alone.
During the winter I commit.
The lake is so calm.
Fewer riders, and much less exposed skin.
I argue with myself, become my own coach–
go, you need the practice.
Which is precisely true. I do need the practice.. Not just getting off the dock. Not just gaining traction on a finless board. Not just holding on tight to the rope or just plain going in circles.
I know to be better I have to practice. I have no natural talent and age is not on my side.
But God is. He knows that I have always held on to the story of a storm, a Man, a ghostly Man, walking on water.
And that other guy who got out of the boat.
I know the physics of wakeboarding a little.
Just like the physics of faith–a little like a seed, a tiny, little mustard seed.
I realized this week I needed wound care–heart specifically, the kind that comes with prayer.
There is great grace in facing my weakness, my need for Jesus, but bad stuff happens. Sometimes it feels lobbed at a person.
All afternoon I told myself to see Jesus helping Peter walking on the water–in a terrible storm.
I told myself–don’t take your eyes off Jesus. Tonight I listen as a storm blows in–first wind, lightning, thunder then sheets of rain.
Blessing in a drought. Not so fun on an open body of water.
Keep your eyes fixed on Jesus. Anything can happen.
1 Corinthians 13:2 (NIV)
If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
Wow. That is some serious super powers–
Faith to move mountains…
But no love.
Sorry. I can’t help to insert my kids here. They like to quote The Sorcerer’s Apprentice. Dudes with serious powers, ya gotta recognize. But Paul says, Naw. What matters is love.
I think he is validating not exacerbating my problem–wanna do something spry? Move a mountain? Wanna do something challenging, dangerous, and real? Love.
Love. That’s the good stuff.
Now tell us how, bad boy. Tell us how.
1 Corinthians 13:1 (NIV)
If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.
I speak in tongues. I tend to keep it on the D/L because it is a divisive issue and I don’t pray in tongues as often as I should. I know it is prayer. I know it is a way to ask for things from Him and worship Him. Unhappily, the gift of tongues does not make me less of a pain in the arse.
Ah, the language of men and angels! Men can attempt to change the world with their pretty words. Angels are messengers so the words of angels are like the signet ring of power.
But power is only as good as it’s source.
Only echoing gongs and cymbals. Loud. Potentially for calling us to something important. Gongs and cymbals are the ancient equivalent of the search engine–power to draw a crowd, proclaim a grand message.
Paul decries the allure of power and message for this humble subversive–love.
Real love with a true voice.
I realized this morning I have a problem with reconciling 1 Corinthians 13 with my heart, my messy wounded heart.
So I am going to perform an operation–verse by verse. See if I can’t get some healing here. I need to be healed.