I love observing the graceful movements of others. I find myself mesmerized by the motion of a ballerina effortlessly dancing across the stage, perfectly synchronized with the music. Each step and note gracefully flow together to tell a seamless, soul-stilling story.
I’d love to think that I am graceful, too. The truth, however, might be quite the opposite. I’ve had multiple concussions in the past few years, and when I move I regularly trip and bump into things. And my issues with depth perception and inability to catch airborne objects have cautioned me to avoid most sports.
And I feel the same sense of clumsiness in my communication. A combination of dyslexia and trouble putting my thoughts into words means I am often anything but clear, concise, and eloquent. I often stumble over my words when I read aloud and regularly use the wrong words for things I am trying to share (or, sometimes, the right words in the wrong order). Occasionally my mind and mouth synchronize and my communication becomes graceful for a moment, but this feels rare these days.
Where I feel the clumsiest lately, however, is in my engagement with God. There was a time when
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