Grateful for "Less Than"

 Grizzly had a spring in his step this week because the morning air was chilly and somehow his cells know he was bred for cold weather. As we walked along,  I realized how quickly this fall has passed and that January was just around the corner. 

I have not walked alone in almost two years, since January 6, 2018. 

I average walking 15-18 miles a week and every single step of that for the last two years has been with this dog, a friend, or sometimes both.   It might always be this way; and if it is, that will be OK.  

In the first weeks and months after the assault,  the part of the whole ordeal that angered me the most was that my freedom had been stolen and I was left with neediness and dependence every time I went outside.  Gone was my ability to tie my shoes and head out the door on a whim for a walk alone.   I took each week and month as it came, walking with a friend, pepper spray in hand, and Grizzly at my side.   

Over time I have come to accept that loss of freedom and independence and to be content with “less” than the way it was before. That has not been easy, but I have healed and grown in new ways and I find myself grateful for what is. I tend toward over achievement  (some might call it perfectionism) and my old self would have thought I had to walk completely alone one day in order to call my recovery a success.  That is not true. It’s not a good way to measure. And some things don’t need to be measured anyway. 

A few days after  that brisk morning, a car pulled up next to me as I was walking. From a rolled down window, a man began to speak to me.   He remarked how beautiful my dog was, asked about his pedigree, where I got him, and mainly marvel at his size.  As we talked I told him why I got Grizzly, about what happened almost two years ago right here in this neighborhood.  Suddenly he said, “Good for you. You are out here walking!”  

“Well, with this enormous German Shepherd,” I said laughing. As we talked on, I learned that he was a believer and we ended up celebrating the goodness of God in our lives right there in the middle of Campbell Road. 

Walking away from that conversation I remembered the earlier thoughts about never walking alone again and realized this ‘limp’ I’d been left with was a good thing.  Jacob wrestled with the angel of God all night, and for the rest of his life walked with a limp.  Jesus, when he appeared to his disciples after the resurrection, bore the scars from his crucifixion. Isaiah 53:5 says, “But he was pierced for our transgressions. He was crushed for our iniquities. The punishment that brought our peace was on him; and by his wounds we are healed.”  If by his wounds, we are healed then perhaps by our wounds others can be healed.    Is that what it means to bear Christ to the world, to be a wounded healer? 

I don’t know about you, but I tend not to want to show those parts of me.  I want to put my best foot forward, use my natural gifts and talents, make a good impression on others.  That doesn’t seem to be the way Jesus usually works.  He tends to show best through the weak and broken, those who know they’ve been forgiven, those who know He is their only hope.  

He seemed to think it was a  good idea for Jacob to walk with a limp, for Jesus to keep those scars on his hands,  and for me to walk with a giant black dog.