Sunday, February 10, 2008

My Cast

At last! My ankle cast is gone!

My ankle was encased and protected in a hard, immobile shell.
I had limited movement.
I was weighted.
I felt heavy and confined.

The cast was applied to protect the broken bone—
a tangible reminder to be cautious.
And I was grateful. The cast fulfilled its duty.

It is gone now.
Cut away and removed.
It dropped away and the cool air hit my leg.
I wiggled my toes.

What now?

Have a seat in the hall and wait.

I tried to decide how to get to the hall.

Is it okay to walk on this ankle now?

How else are you going to get there?

Tentatively I took baby steps across the hard, cold clinic floor.
With every hesitant step I willed my ankle to have muscle recall.

This injured limb had been denied direct sensations for quite a while.
The lower portion of my leg did not feel like my own—foreign and strange.

I secretly hoped I could put my foot on the ground and run (or at least skip).
I hobbled still.
I thought I would feel freedom.
I did, but not in the way I imagined.

As the cast was pulled away I saw myself.
Somewhat immobile. Partially confined.
I can move. I can feel. I am alive.
But I am limited by my own brokenness.

This body of mine—like the ankle cast—has been graffitied.
My hard shell has offered protection, but it has often been abused.
I regard this cast with fondness and gratitude—
it has guarded the inner me and given me a place to carry myself.

What now?
Have a seat in the hall and wait.
Wait because someday He will return.

God will send his son and once again my cast shall drop away.
I will take my first breath of fresh air.
Sensations will flow over me like rivers.
This heavy weight will be discarded.
I will at last be truly home--
I will no longer be a foreigner nor a stranger.

I will be whole and complete.

And I will not only walk, but I will run;
I will not only run, but I will fly.
I will be free.

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