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Pity to Privilege

September 7, 2011

I’ve paved my road with pity. And I’m trying now to hammer, chisel, dig it away. In difficulty pity is always my struggle. My hands are a bit bloody and my knees a bit scraped. But pity pounds too hard for me to leave it unearthed.

Pity doesn’t drape warmly around my shoulders. It is simply a deceiving foundation, stretching endlessly on, urging me on towards empty promises.

And like other travelers, I stand at two roads, one inviting, comfortable, familiar. The other difficult and unknown but somehow I sense it is fuller, better, brighter. I breathe deeply for the first time in weeks; I clear my head and set my heart on privilege.

Privilege to mother my living, breathing, smiling, babbling one-year old boy. Privilege to see life newly, through his perspective, through his diagnosis. Privilege to walk beside my spouse, that man who loves so richly, as together we press forward. Privilege, really? Yes.

Because as Ann Voskamp so beautifully writes, “All is grace only because all can transfigure.”

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