I hate falling. All of the sudden I’m looking at the world from the sidewalk in pain and embarrassment. I hurt! Everything I held I rediscover in new and unexpected locations. I snatch my pride from the pavement along with my possessions. Did anyone see? I sure hope not!
Thankfully I don’t fall that much anymore but each fall I do take is more painful. My kids fall all the time. The degree of their surprise increases with their age. Now they even blame their nearest sibling to cover the slip as if they can’t believe their coordination could fail them so miserably! It can’t be me so it must be you!
It’s not like falling down is a moral failure or a reflection of intelligence so why is it so stinkin’ embarrassing!? I guess if someone falls because they’re drunk it does say a whole lot of something. But most of the time its a misjudged distance or wet polished granite in high traffic areas, which I could write a lengthy blog about.
Why do I still get so supremely shocked when I fall and knock my soul against the pavement of life? It’s not like God doesn’t tell us it’ll happen. He does! Why when I find myself looking up at the world from a different perspective do I rush to gather my wits and my pride and look around to see if someone noticed? Why am I surprised? He is not surprised.
The promises in Psalms comfort me. I have a hand to hold. I will not be hurled headlong. The wise will rise up over and over and over. I know I hold the hand. I hope I’m wise!
If childishness is blaming the nearest sibling for my fall, maybe becoming childlike means falling and getting up without such surprise and embarrassment? I really don’t want to practice this principle but it seems falling is inevitable.