I walk with a limp.

I speak with a limp.

I think with a limp.

I pray with a limp.

Nothing is now as it was created to be.

Everything limps.

Even the most awe-inspiring facets of creation

groan.

Their beauty stunted with

a stutter,

a fracture,

a chip.

We’ve grown so accustomed to the limp

that we are no longer cognisant of

our own disability.

I’ve forgotten what a street without

cigarette scars looks like.

Or an ocean without last night’s party

wrapped in the bushes.

I don’t know a day where my heart

isn’t tangled in selfish anger.

So I don’t ask for healing.

Do any of us?

We stop looking for solutions

to problems

we have learned to live with.

Is this being content?

Is this peace?

Or has the broken bone healed

with such sound disfigurement

that the journey to healing

looks more painful

than staying broken?

I need someone outside of me to tell me

of the beauty of full health.

Someone to capture my heart

with the vibrancy of wholeness of mind, body, and soul.

Tell me what it looks like to walk

with a full gait.

Tell me what it feels like to love

from a healed heart.

Tell me what it sounds like to speak

from a pure spring.

Tell me what it is to live

without my limp.

Healer, heal.

Saviour, save.

Optician, open our eyes.

Show us wholeness

so we resent

our limp.