Dancing With A Limp

My late mother's birthday was last week, and I had many ideas about how I would commemorate the day to honor her memory. 

A friend told me that I should make a dinner that she would have liked, and I thought that was a great idea.  I also wanted to spend some time in the evening looking at some of her many photo albums and reminiscing. 

But the day got away from me.  Some tasks needed to be done, including emails that required attention and writing projects that had to be completed.  I also didn't have any of the ingredients to make the dinner I had planned.  

I ended up going to bed without pulling out the photo albums.  I didn't have the emotional energy to do it.  

Then, on Monday of this week, I was digging through a box for something I needed, and discovered a scrapbook that she had created many years ago with the words "Poems" painted on the cover (yes, painted).  She had also decorated it with painted flowers. 

Inside, I found that she had taken scores of poems that she had collected from newspapers over the years, ones that held meaning to her in some way.  There were original poems from my aunt, who passed away last year, and a favorite poem of my late uncle's that he had handwritten to share with my mom before I was born. 

As I started to read some of them, I thought about the young woman who clipped those poems, and how poetry was so meaningful to her, even though she seldom tried her hand at writing any.  

But she passed on that love of poetry to her son.  And I realized that my own love of poetry, which began when I was very young, had come from her.  

I also realized that the reason I had not been able to truly celebrate my mom's birthday was that I was feeling the old familiar immobilization of my grief over losing her.  

Strangely, I believed that my discovery of the scrapbook was her way of sharing something important with me when I needed to know it.  Grief makes you think strange things sometimes, and it never really goes away, but I'm learning more about it the longer I live with it.  

Anne Lamott once wrote: 

“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”

Grief is one of the most profound teachers of the human soul. It reminds us of the depth of our love and the fragility of our days. Lamott’s imagery of a broken leg that never fully heals is powerful—it doesn’t mean we are forever immobilized, but that we move differently. The limp becomes part of our story.

Scripture does not shy away from grief. The Psalms are filled with raw cries of lament: “My tears have been my food day and night” (Psalm 42:3). Even Jesus wept at the tomb of his friend Lazarus (John 11:35). God does not demand that we pretend we are whole when we feel shattered. Instead, God promises presence in the midst of pain: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18).

To honor our grief is not to deny its ache but to let it shape us into people who live more fully. The limp reminds us of the beloved who is gone, but it also propels us toward compassion for others who limp. Grief never completely leaves us, and perhaps that is mercy—for in the tender ache, love still speaks.

If you are walking through loss today, may you find the courage to “dance with a limp.” May you live with hope, honoring your beloved not only with memories but with the way you embrace life, love generously, and carry their light forward.

Prayer:

God of comfort, hold us close in our grief. Teach us to honor those we love by truly living, even as we carry our brokenness. Help us to find peace, hope, and the courage to dance with the limp. Amen. 

Reflection Questions:

1. How has grief changed the way you see and move through life?

2. Where do you sense God’s presence most deeply in your moments of loss?

3. What would it look like to honor your beloved by living with hope and compassion today?