One week-day morning last spring I was wakened by the soft chimes of my iPhone carillon. Having hit the snooze three times I finally slid out of the covers on to my foot and into my leg. In a sleepy haze I staggered to the chest-of-drawers to gather socks, a T, and under armor. Kate was on her way out the door with a goodbye kiss (our morning tradition) and I had the shower all to myself. I let the water run (as is my custom) to clear out the chilly water from the pipes. With the onset of higher temperatures I hopped in.
I grabbed the soap (which wasn't Irish Spring) and began to lather up enjoying the warmth of the constant flow of water rushing over my head, shoulders, and body. I reached for the shampoo and with eyes closed I began the daily ritual of wash, rinse, but no repeat. (Does anyone ever really repeat?) I again placed my full body under the spray and gently massaged the last of the soap from my hair. With my head face-down and the soap dissipating, I opened my eyes and saw there, standing all alone, one foot.
I guess I had never noticed before that the right foot seems so lonely without its mate. With no big toe, pinky toe, or the piggies on the left, my bodily symmetry was so obviously out of whack; I was struck by the idea that in thirty-something years of life I had never looked down at the floor in the shower.
So I observed as if from an out of body experience how the water and soap flowed down the one leg onto the floor and into the drain. And I wondered, "What would it be like to have 'two feet on the floor?'" What's it like to look down and to see the symmetry of two big toes, of legs and knees? What is it to feel the weight of your body evenly distributed on two feet? What is it like to know that when you take a step and then a second that your other foot will be right there to transfer the weight and propel you forward? What would it be like to really run?
Growing up with a birth defect I adapted to life obstacles. Some obstacles are there naturally, some are placed there by others, still some I put in place myself because of laziness, doubt, or lack of vision. (I learned to ride a bicycle at the age of nine, after my godmother asked, "Well why cain't you?"; I had told myself that it was an impossibility.) But what if I had two feet on the floor? With two feet all the physical barriers would be stripped away. Only the sky is the limit, right?
Well the sky didn't stop the Wright brothers or Neil Armstrong, et al. from moving upward. What is left, I think, are the mental barriers, the impossibilities we create in our minds.
Very rarely I have dreams that I'm running, and I'm sure they are gifts and glimpses of what the fullness of heaven is like. So in my dreams when I'm running, I'm not thinking about what I can or cannot do. I'm just running. I'm feeling the elation of one foot after another hitting the ground and the weight transferring forward. I'm intuitively trusting that the next foot will fall into place and that this experience can go on and on, until I stop it. Everything is just the way it is supposed to be.
This leads me to the idea that the only real barriers are the ones that we tell ourselves we cannot overcome. Hop in the shower (on one foot) and think about that for a while.
I have to tell you, when I finished reading this post I sat at looked at my feet for a few minutes. They looked so foreign and distant and it occurred to me how strange it is that I’m not used to the way they look by now. You muse about what it’s like to have symmetrical legs while it’s never occurred to me that my legs would be anything but symmetrical, but I’d have to say that you have a better appreciation by far for that which you live without , while I take for granted what I’ve always lived with. Your post made me stop and think about all those things to which I feel entitled, all the things that I take for granted and all of the resources I’ve been given that I could be using to glorify God but instead don’t utilize for whatever reason. Perhaps one of my self-imposed barriers is a lack of appreciation for the depths of God’s generosity. I can tell you this, that barrier is coming down. Thank you for sharing your story. God bless.
ReplyDeleteYou know, I crossed one of my own mental barriers a few weeks ago when running a marathon. All during, I was amazed how much of it was mental, forcing myself to "keep putting one foot forward" even when my legs were tired and part of me wanted to slow down or take a break. I would have loved to have read this before - the idea of being thankful for the ability to run so freely never really crossed my mind. And the more important idea - to push past your mental impossibilities - is a great message. Entertaining and inspirational - keep them coming!
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