Pouting…

I sit here pouting. I sprained my ankle 7 weeks ago dancing a jig (“…an offshoot to Nathan”). I have since been hiking and walking and it has felt fully recovered so that I haven’t given it a second thought. I talked to my friend Willie last night (“Meet Willie”) about wanting to concentrate on losing some weight and he said to get up early and first thing go out and exercise. So I woke up this morning excited to see some sunshine and got up and out the door with my iPod to do a combo walk 2 minutes and then run 90 seconds routine. I was entranced by the colorful changing leaves, the fresh air, the New England architecture and I waved at the policeman directing traffic. I was invigorated by my first run and turned down a side path and wham bam, my ankle twisted and down I went in a glorious wipe-out on the pavement.

I have had my share of spills and usually I pop right back up, but this time, I stayed down and could feel the trauma coursing through my body. My ankle was throbbing as I was steadying my breathing and assessing the damage. Right knee bloody, ripped pants, minor cut on right hand, and that left ankle not wanting weight. I got up eventually, and fighting dizziness, hobbled over to a stoop and sat down a little longer. I was SO disappointed, kicking myself for not wearing my ankle bandage, feeling stupid and mad that now I wouldn’t be able to continue my run/walk combo and would be lucky to hobble back, let alone get my heart rate up.

So here I sit, icing, elevating and resting the ankle and feeling sorry for myself. And yet also I’m doing plenty of self talk about how things could be worse. I could have broken an arm or fingers or been hit by a car, so really it’s ridiculous to pout, but sometimes I wallow.  Aunt Joy (“Meet Persis”) is a wonderful example of living a full and beautiful life no matter what tragedy strikes, and this puts my stupid ankle in a very insignificant, minor category. And then as is common, an appropriate song played randomly on iTunes and I almost laughed. It is from an old John Michael Talbot CD that I collected 30 years ago, and though I have now been through many spiritual transformations this humble monk can still meet me where I live….

Love is patient, Love is kind

It does not brood over injuries

Does not rejoice in what is wrong

Love rejoices always with the truth

So there you have it, reproved by lyrics and touched by love once again. I also received a sweet comment on a Facebook post telling me that I am “beauty personified.” Well, my friends, if you could have seen me a little while ago that beauty was behind a dark cloud. I am slowly peeking out again, determined not to “brood over injuries” and take my blessed life with rejoicing. I am not perfect, but I am perfectly ready to take what may come with a smile.

Love never fails

There is no limit to Love

To its power to prevail

To its trust, to its hope

Its power to endure

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