The Gift of a Limp

This week I had the opportunity to meet with a mentor I have been walking with for the past three years.  When I first started getting together with her she was attached to a university.  She has since graduated and now resides in a rest home. While she has retired from most of her responsibilities she is still willing to get together and for that I am grateful.

Normally we meet once a month, but when I started calling a few weeks ago to set up our next appointment I was unable to track her down.  I was a bit worried.  You can imagine how happy I was to hear her voice when she finally called me back to set up an appointment.  She sounded good; I was relieved and was excited to get together. 

The last time we met was just before my book came out and I promised to bring her a copy the next time I saw her.  With book in hand I entered the building excited to see her face.  I expected to find her in the lobby as usual, but she was not there.  The receptionist offered to call her room and let her know I had arrived.  There was no answer, so I took a seat and waited.

Several minutes later I heard the sound of a walker making its way down the hall.  I was surprised to find my mentor was the one who was piloting it.  She had never had need to use one before.  I stood, walked over to her and made a comment about the shinny ride she was sporting.  She chuckled and said it wasn’t quite like a new car, but it was helpful.

When we finally settled at a table on the patio, she told me she had experienced a series of falls and found herself in the hospital for several weeks.  The doctors were trying to determine what was causing her dizziness.  While they were not able to verify the cause of her condition, she was given this beautiful burgundy walker as a parting gift. 

With that she dropped the subject and turned our focus to the book.  She ran her hands over the cover as if she was savoring the moment before she picked it up.  Then she opened the cover and turned a few pages until she reached the Table of Contents. She began to read each title, pausing on the ones which peaked her interest as if she was savoring the sound of it. She would then give me a look which said, “I can’t wait to read that one.”  I took pleasure in watching how delighted she seemed to be to be holding The Good Way.

She began asking me questions about the book and how present the Camino is in my current life.  Our conversation weaved between the story which is told in the book and what is happening presently in life.  At one point I began to share with her an insight I had been thinking about which I did not include in my telling of the story in the book. 

I shared how I had twisted my ankle with six days left to walk.  I told her how the timing of the injury seemed to be in alignment with the unfolding story of my life’s journey.  This was something my wife had pointed out to me when it happened.  I was able to finish the Camino, but it was with a limp.  In some ways it made the final days of walking even sweeter. Walking with a limp was a gift when there had been a real possibility of not walking at all.   

I shared that I have been wondering if this might not also mirror my life’s journey.  While I will walk the path ahead of me, I wondered if from here on out it will always be with a limp.

This brought to mind Jacob and the limp he carried with him for the rest of his life. Somehow, the wrenching of Jacob’s hip as he struggled with the man with whom he had wrestled with all night long was tied to the blessing he would receive from the same individual.  I told my mentor what I was thinking and shared I do not naturally think of a limp as a gift, but maybe it is.

She turned and placed her hand on her walker and said, “Maybe I should call my walker God because I have to wrestle with it?” I laughed, looked around, and then offered, “You had better be careful about who hears you refer to your walker as God or you might have bigger issues.”  She laughed.  I then said, “But I see what you mean, it reminds you of your dependence on Him.”  She agreed and then offered so much more, “It also steadies, supports and allows me to maintain my balance.”  Our limps allows us to discover more than the fact we are dependent, they allow us to experience the One who steadies, supports and brings balance.

Maybe you do not have a need for a walker, but chances are you have a limp of some kind.  While you may have found it discouraging at times, my prayer would be that it would be the lens through which you would discover how near and powerful God is.  Without need we cannot experience the one who provides.  Without circumstances which rock our world we will not discover the presence of the one who calms the seas. Without woundedness we will not be amazed by the one who heals.

In the light of the One who does all these things, our limps become less of an affliction and more of blessings.  They no longer cut off our life, but become the wellspring from which it flows.  They become a constant reminder of the fact we walk in the presence of the one who is able to be our firm foundation, hold us securely and restore our equilibrium.

Sitting on the patio, staring at my mentor's walker, thinking about these things, I could see it as truly beautiful.