As many of you know by now, I have sustained a small injury of the aging athlete variety, a muscle tear, which has necessitated a splint and several weeks on crutches. Even less conveniently, it is my right leg, which means I cannot safely drive a car. I have been unable to get out of the house, save by the good offices of several kind souls who have ferried me here and there, and as ever Eileen has been most helpful, but the fact is I have been effectively “grounded,” overtaken by enforced idleness.

It is usually the custom of ministers, when forced to undergo a temporary life changing episode of this sort, to ruminate on the Deeper Significance of these physical challenges and then to share with all and sundry the profound wisdom they have garnered from their brush with incapacity. Far be it from me to break such a venerable ministerial custom, so herewith is:

The Profound Wisdom I Have Garnered From Living On Crutches For Two Weeks.

1. If you really need to, you can carry a newspaper in your pants.
2. Walking is a controlled fall. (It is a wager we make with gravity that we will be able to plunge forward and then catch ourselves with legs [or something] before gravity overtakes us completely and we wind up on our faces. As toddlers we know this intimately; we forget it very quickly until crutch time makes us remember it.)
3. There is much to commend hands-and-knees, especially immediately upon arising. (Again, we used to know this intimately.)
4. It is better to fall up the stairs than down the stairs.
5. There are 12 stair steps in my house. At any given moment, the thing I need will always be at the other end of them.
6. Towel bars will not hold your weight.
7. When you tell people you have torn a muscle, the first word they say is always the same-- “Ouch!”
8. When people compliment you on your courage, smile bravely and demur; this is good for lots of strokes. (Enjoy it while it lasts, it’s back to normal soon.)
9. Although tempting, do not try to pass off your crutch as a Unitarian Universalist bishop’s staff. Nobody buys it.
10. Forget the little bell to call for service; your wife will never buy it.

I trust by the time you read this I will be back to something like normal. Thanks to parishioners, friends, colleagues and especially Eileen for all the kindnesses and good wishes. With respect and affection,

Steve