It’s been a tough week. Warm water therapy on Friday was a failure, resulting in a breakdown in the rec center dressing room. I am trying hard to recover from an injury sustained almost three years ago. Three years ago! As I result, I can hardly walk. Usually, I can walk in the water for longer than on land. But no. Not this week. I can’t do either. I don’t know if I’ll ever walk normally again. After three years I haven’t made much progress, though I work hard every day to recover. After Mark put me back together emotionally in the locker room, we came home and, while he made me a smoothie, I wrote a poem of lament:

Sitting in Lament
Sitting in lament
Overcome by torment
Coming to grips, while my heart rips,
That I am lame.
“I am” may be forever;
I may have to sever my present from my past.
Letting go of able
My past only a fable
Of what was once truth.
Truth changed in a moment
That cannot be taken back.
In sackcloth and ashes I grieve
With no reprieve
From this pain of lame.
Lame is my new name
I am not the same
As I once was.
How does one come to grips
With limps?
My way of getting around.
This may be forever.
Sitting in lament
Overcome by torment.

Usually when I write a poem, I end on a note of hope. But this time, I couldn’t. This lame foot is a thorn in my flesh, and I’m really beginning to wonder if I will get better. It’s okay to feel sad and end my poem on a note with no resolution. It’s okay to share my sadness, too.

I just finished writing a book called, Beauty Beyond the Thorns: Discovering Gifts in Suffering. It is filled with stories of hardship and gifts discovered during the process. I know one day hindsight will help me see the gifts. Until then I trust. I cannot find a way to remove this thorn myself. It may never be removed, but I know if it isn’t, I need it. God doesn’t waste pain. There is some ultimate purpose that isn’t clear to me now. One day I will write this story in a book instead of a blog post, and tell of all the ways my lameness has been a gift. Every previous trial I’ve gone through has born gifts for me, or for others around me, from my God. There are thirty chapters of examples in my upcoming book. One day, this pain will become a chapter in a new book. Until then, it’s okay to feel the pain of my lame. Today, this is me.

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  1. It took me a long time to understand that I needed to grieve for the things that I could no longer do because of my cancer (and the loss of my hip). Still 10 years later I sometimes forget that I can’t do things I think I should be able to. Just like the grief of losing someone, the anger/lament will be brought to the surface when least expected. Prayers that you can find a little joy today to bring back that spark of hope.

    1. Thank you Kim. The grief does come in waves. Thank you for sharing a little bit of your story. It helps that you can relate. Thank you for your prayer. God bless 🙏.

  2. Praying for you, Darci. Just remember, lame turns into “leaping” when Jesus takes ahold of it! That may come in the physical, and that may come in the spiritual (or both). I pray the power that dwells deep within you will arise, and “joyful leaping” will be in your near future. God bless you, sister.
    Marla McKeown

  3. My heart goes out to you. I have also written many laments, similar to yours. Having an outlook based in God’s word (as you do) helps some, but yet does not alleviate the need to grieve and mourn and grieve again. God bless.

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