You are determined to reach God, and you don’t care how high you have to build or what you use. You start with the Legos your parents gave you after you broke your leg. You use the crutches that let you hobble, but wouldn’t let you run. You balance all the umbrellas, one on top of the other, that you held while you watched your classmates outrun the clock at track meets. You pile up the trophies you didn’t win. You stack up all the puzzle pieces and playing cards the dog tried to eat while you were waiting to get back to the track. You tie the whole thing up with finish line tape you couldn’t break through when doctors couldn’t repair the leg that didn’t heal.
You stand on the top of your tower and barely reach God’s office. You knock on the door, ready to complain about how unfair life is and how your dreams broke with your leg.
God is not there.
He’s walking your future wife down the aisle. He’s giving you in-laws who open their hearts and family business to you. He’s playing basketball with your kids. He’s offering the toast at your 50th wedding anniversary surprise party.
God knows you’re too busy reliving your disappointment to enjoy all the gifts you wouldn’t have received if you could run.
God loves you anyway. Even if you don’t love yourself.
published in Imogene's Notebook
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