Despite what Coldplay says, God gave me neither style nor grace
Photo by trevorappleton.
Of course it had to be someone else's photo,
because a) I rarely do mountains, and
b) if I'd taken a picture I would have fallen off the cliff.
I beg to differ with Coldplay: God gave me neither style nor grace.
Otherwise, why then, when I was slated to be in the tap routine for a show, would the choreographers have politely and discreetly cut the number "needed" in half? (I wasn't needed.)
Why then, when I was using on the squat machine at the gym this weekend, would another gym-goer say to me, "Not quite awake yet, are we?" (I was in the middle of a set.)
Why then, when I caught my flip-flop on the slightest raised inch of sidewalk and landed hard on the other foot on my way home from work, would a homeless man call out to me to be careful? (I walk the same route every day.)
I'm really, really hoping -- with all fingers crossed, except with my luck, I'll cut off circulation and lose a pinky -- that this lack of grace will transform to some greater purpose. That I'll have the sort of opportunities only abject awkwardness can reveal, like a lost diamond ring on the sidewalk right before cheek meets pavement.
I'm thinking this, actually:
This better be it. Otherwise, I'm taking out extra insurance.
Prayer #178: Stumblin' Fool
If I'm going to trip over anything, Lord, can You make it the curb and not my words?
I keep stumbling across the same arguments, the same worries, the same aggravations, the same fears. If there's a high expectation or misplaced assumption around, I guarantee I will stub my toe on it.
You'd think I'd learn. But no. I rush in where angels know better than to tread and consequently fall flat on my all-too-mortal face.
Help me clear the path, Lord. Or at least remove it of injurious debris for the time being. That way I can start making progress down the road, with at least some strength -- and some limbs -- intact.
Amen.