Identity? I just want to make sure I heard you correctly,
because if you’re looking at me a cripple is what you will see.
Maybe that’s just me,
or what I let this world define me.
Either way, I’m not looking to Him who went before & died so that I might give
if I was seeing clearly, I might know this isn’t my story,
and still, I find myself asking for healing.
So I can be “just like everyone else”
Yes, I can see your eyes looking over at me, pitifully-
But I’m at war with my fault lines on my outside, compared to everyone’s seemingly perfect inner & outer parts of the body.
And I know we all struggle, waging war with a persistent Enemy,
but I can’t help myself from falling victim to the snake in the form of a mirror feeding me ripened lies.
Might as well call me Eve,
if I were any wiser, the tree of knowledge would still have the apple
and suffering wouldn’t be worth defining.
In the silence, covered in shame,
I hear a less than audible whisper:
only in weakness can Christ be displayed.
Though I maybe walking slow
I’m embracing the perfectly wobbly gift
A body, thought from pure love