I didn’t think much about falling when I was a kid, though I did plenty of it. Most of the time, I popped right back up and went about my business. I actually looked forward to certain falls, like the swift descent of a roller coaster or a slightly over-the-speed-limit drive through the hills of the appropriately named Roller Coaster Road. Those were the days.
When I was 49, I was dutifully mopping the kitchen floor when I took on an Elvis-like swagger, minus the pivoting hips and blue suede shoes. I did pivot, but it was directly towards the floor in impressively swift fashion. That fall resulted in a broken femur and had me howling like a hyena in labor.
Over the past 10 years, there were no falls, fun or otherwise, to report until the recent incident at the football field that I wrote about a few weeks ago. That fall still has me thinking and behaving differently. Though I can now return to walking with my cane, I haven’t because I can’t seem to forget the excruciating pain I experienced in that recent tumble.
Every time I cast a wistful glance at my cane, the security of my “old man walker” woos me back to its safe confines. I just can’t seem to forget the agony of that fall. Perhaps that’s a good thing. The memories encourage caution in every step.
I’m not the only one with a good memory. Jesus has a pretty good one as well. He remembers his intentions when He created us. He recalls fondly that we were designed for fellowship and worship. He meant for us to mirror Him in our thoughts and actions and to share in His selfless love for others.
But, there was that whole Garden of Eden thing, where the dynamic duo of Adam and Eve were persuaded to take a walk on the wild side and become acquainted with evil. They quickly discovered that such acquaintances don’t wear off. Instead, evil attached itself to their very natures, causing them to oppose God, rather than love Him.
Jesus remembers our fall. The pain of our separation from Him has never left His heart. What we have succumbed to as normal, He sees as catastrophic. Anything less than companionship with Him was definitely a fall, and it required an extreme remedy.
Because He remembers the heights from which we have fallen, He uncovered Himself, stripping off all claims to His divine privilege and covered us with the opportunity of being restored to our relationship with Him. The cross he bore loudly proclaims, “I have paid the price for your acquaintance with evil. I see your helpless state. I remember your fall and I have come to pick you up.” It’s His memory that is the gift that keeps giving.
My fall made me more cautious. My fallen nature made Jesus throw caution to the wind. To Jesus, I’m worth the price that my fall incurred upon Him. He calls each of us to remember our fall, to remember the exit of innocence and the separation from Him that resulted. Handle your thoughts and decisions with caution.
Choose to stay in the Lord’s garden, rather than being enticed by the silver-tongued serpent whose fruit will forever be rotten to the core, though sweet to the taste. The Father’s invitation, which is His greatest gift, remains: Taste and see that the Lord is good. As I continue to endeavor to reflect upon my faith with child-like wonder, I wish for you all to catch a glimpse of His grace and may you have a truly blessed Christmas.