There was a woman bent double for eighteen years,
utterly unable to straighten up,
perception limited to those she could please,
yes, and to those who were needy and refused
to help themselves. Let them lean on her.
She would carry them if necessary.
She first began to bend this way
feeling wounded, unworthy to stand tall.
She was convinced she couldn't measure up, and chose
to opt out, to lie across the threshold
like a welcome mat.
Oh, it was safer to lie low--less risk--
vision confined to periphery:
the daily duty list, the weighty shoulds.
How many sparrows, herons, eagles
did she miss in flight? How many dawns
unfurled heaven without her?
This spirit bent her bones like reeds.

And then one Sabbath day
she reached out for Him.
He grasped her hands and said--Woman,
you are free--
Her back began to arch and climb the atmosphere
as if on wings, her feet
almost lifting from the dust...
until she met the eyes of Jesus.
though it seemed her bones dissolved, she held
his gaze, amazed at seeing there
the infinite, the possibilities, the visions...
She reveled in the height and depth,
the width and breadth of God's love...
until the bentness of her spirit
sprang up straight.

Reprinted with permission from Going Over The Falls
Poems by Gretchen Sousa