I'm Wallace Mercer; I hate shoes and I like to write. I was born lame, with cerebral palsy; a case of hemiplegia that affects my left side. I was, according to sketchy details, stuck in the birth canal for an inordinate and dangerous amount of time; the loss of oxygen impaired function that is permanent, so far. Railing and fuming with God and anyone who'll listen for years, but now learning by God's terribly rich mercy to leap for joy. It is in listening and dying that I learn to change, I can choose death in exchange for real life, real ever, ever life. I'm no trained theologian, but submit to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The positively supreme & transforming Gospel.
This story of the blind man is a sort of comfort and a sort of disturbance; at least the parents were deemed to be off the hook- Jesus set the disciples' inquiry straight: it was not the parents who'd sinned, as the "feeble somebody must pay minded" motley followers believed. This blind man, he was healed and walked away seeing. Look around. Healing, it seems, is for the few who are born missing a part, or a function. And so begins the blog of the fussy, rabble rousing cripple, who liked (and sometimes likes it still) to argue with God. If I seriously consider the weight of the Gospel, I may not see healing here, in fact, I probably will not, but oh the promise of that day. In the mean, meantime might I trust Jesus' hard saying..?
" but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed...."
Once I was lame in body and blind in soul; Now, redeemed, I limp toward Eternity, waiting in body, but soul assured. I said assured, not blissful. Thanks be to God.