This morning, I feel human again. The summer cold that began 12 days ago seems to be winding down, and I am out walking with my dog Dozer.
We've been around the block a thousand times in the years he's lived here, but this morning, as he stops at his favorite Hosta, I misstep and the rain-soften ground gives way beneath my left foot. Twisting my left ankle, I begin to fall. My right knee scrapes against the asphalt alley and I let go of the leash. I close my eyes and grimace as I slide headlong into the grass, like a discarded beanbag chair.
When I open my eyes, Dozer is standing next to me – a new and welcome behavior from a dog who lives to run away. I retrieve my end of the leash and push myself into a sitting position. I check the road rash on my right knee. I stand and test my left ankle. Definitely a sprain, but not too painful.
Dozer and I walk slowly home.
I get an ice pack, limp up the stairs to my office, settle into an upholstered chair with left foot elevated, and open my devotional. "... be still and know that I am God."
I laugh. Of course. A need for stillness. My summer theme.
Green pastures. Quiet waters.
Mary, not Martha.
I shake my head and embrace the idea that I am a work in progress, a truant student, the recipient of innumerable second chances from a Teacher with infinite patience.