Maybe I’m grateful for my asthmatic lungs, the way they make the first third of my run a tight-chested climb, make the deep breaths of the hour’s remainder that much more open and full.
Maybe I’m thankful for the rain, so much rain, for how much brighter it makes the sun seem to shine when it does, the moon a pale orb in a clear blue sky–how much that lone image looks like grace.
Maybe I’m happy to have spent months with tight and angry tendons, to feel the swell of pain from foot to knee to hip and how deeply it grafted into bone, to not know if and when it would ever get better–happy that now it makes the steps that only hurt just a little, and sometimes not at all, feel like a blessing.
Maybe I’m learning that getting up off my knees is simpler than I ever imagined: giving God a return on His investment, showing I can hold up my end of the bargain.
Maybe I’m glad to have been alone all my life, to know I’ll appreciate what others take for granted, to understand I’ll be as thrilled to hold someone’s hand as most would be to get a wedding or a house.
Maybe I’m realizing only I and God know what choices I’m making, what chances I’m given, the depth of the bottom I must hit before admitting my need, and that maybe this goes for others as well.
Maybe I’m believing that everything matters–smallest nod to longest novel–and that gifts are not things to be squandered but obligations to be fulfilled.
Maybe I’m trying harder than I’ve ever tried before, and at the same time, letting go of all I’ve ever kept in my hands.
Maybe I’m not meant to know every reason.
Maybe I’m too in love with you to tell you a lie.