Genesis
Judith Kunst
July 1, 2001
The night we married, making love,
my husband nudged my left hip loose
and I knew next day I'd be limping.
He lay beside me like a god.
I will not let you go, I thought,
I will not let you go until
you bless me. Truly, not until
love felled me did I fall in love,
my body opened wide, my thoughts
unhinged, my coiled mind set loose
to seize on an ancient story: God
wrestling Jacob, Jacob limping,
wounded, hip dislodged—no limping
breath in his reckless prayer, Until
he blesses me I'll not let this God
go. Here was a man who knew love
when he saw it, who clutched the loose
threads of heaven and hauled, all thought
tensed toward demand. Bless me. I'd thought
those words some gauzy net of limping
etiquette—not this harpoon loosed
from Jacob's mouth, my mouth. Not until
I hurled those words could I hold a love
elusive as a husband's or a God's …
How long must fierce words wait on God's
response? Jacob (I know it) thought
he'd missed his aim, sure such massive love
would kill, or worse, leave him limping
alone. Then God, not bound by words until
He chooses, blessed him, tied his loose
life tight to a new name, its loose
translation One Who Strives with God
and Lives. And Jacob slept. But I, until
this long dream ends, lie stumped in thought.
He is no god who set me limping.
How does a wounded love love?
Here in the dark love's been set loose,
been sealed; and God holds His own thoughts
till we awaken, limping, healed.
Like the preview? To read this complete article
and 20,006 more in the archive—JOIN NOW!
Easily find high-quality, well-researched materials that provide a Christian perspective on topics ranging from headlines to history.
Start using this invaluable tool TODAY for preparing your Bible studies, presentations, class lectures, sermons, meetings, and more.
|
It's easy and quick to join:
Brought to You by Christianity Today Int'l |  |
|
| 
Find similar articles
E-mail this page
