go ahead and stare

I’m limping, but I’m still here. And, as He is apt to do, God is teaching me about Himself in these present circumstances.

I’ll explain a little more about what’s happening with my knee in tomorrow’s post. Today all you need to know is that I’m limping and that my right leg occasionally gets locked in a straight position, unable to bend unless I use my hands to manipulate the joint. That means I’m not walking around much, but I made an exception Tuesday night.

You see, we had our last respite planning meeting on Tuesday, and I needed to be there to lead the team. I also need (okay, wanted) to be there to eat dessert. We met at Yogurt Mountain, which is a wonderful world of about a dozen flavors of frozen yogurt and 50+ toppings that you can combine in any way you’d like. For the record, I’m an acai berry energy + vanilla bean yogurt topped with Nerds candy and sour gummy worms kind of gal. 

This is not the sort of treat you can have someone else make for you. 

Because the proportions have to be just right for it to near perfection, I had to hobble around to make my own.

Because not making one isn’t an option, no matter how injured you are.

And as I hobbled, I felt conspicuous. Some people were more tactful in their glances while others just stared. A couple of young guys awkwardly went out of their way twice to make sure they weren’t in my way. (Their youth gave them the awkwardness; I bet their mommas gave them the good manners.) 

When we met at Yogurt Mountain two weeks ago, no one looked my way. No one noticed me. Everyone ate their yogurt, had their own conversations, and went on their merry way, myself included. I had rheumatoid arthritis then too, but it wasn’t visible.

Tuesday night, though, I was noticed. And, with the exception of kids’ staring in curiosity or the young guys’ trying not to hinder me in my quest for yogurt, I didn’t want to be noticed. Not for my limp. 

Generally speaking, people like to be noticed. But they like to be noticed for some skill or talent or accomplishment, not for a challenge or problem. We like to be noticed for what we can do, not for what we can’t do. We like to be noticed for ability, not disability.

The gospel turns this desire to be noticed upside down, though. We like to be noticed for good things; but as Christians, we confess that we are sinners. We like to be noticed for accomplishments; but as Christians, we confess that only accomplishment that means anything is what Christ accomplished at the cross as the perfect, final sacrifice for the sins of his people. We like to be noticed for what we can do; but as Christians, we have to admit that Christ did what we couldn’t do.

I emailed the rest of our church’s Family Discipleship team yesterday to share details with them about what’s going on with my knee, and I’ve been overwhelmed by their sweet replies. One, though, I have to disagree with. The response began, “Shannon, You are remarkable.”

The truth is, though, that I’m not. I am clinging to God’s truth, not because I am strong but because I know nothing else will satisfy. I can trust that God has a plan to make good out of my knee failing me at age 29, not because I have a great ability to trust but because God is absolutely trustworthy. I am willing to share these challenges through the internet, even though most of you will never see my limp, not because I want you to be impressed with my faith but because I want to impress upon you the reason for the hope I have. 

It’s Jesus.

And if my limp will point others to Christ, I would rather limp than walk normally. If noticing my limp will make others notice my God as well, then I don’t mind the stares.

To him be the glory.