This little poem is inspired by Jacob's fight with the angel. Jacob persevered, as did the angel. Jacob got a new name, identity and a limp that lasted for his lifetime. We remember his limp by not eating the cut
We all get a little beat up during our lifetimes. I imagined Jacob as an old man, heading back to Egypt to meet his son Joseph after so many years. Jacob probably still sported that limp, all those years later. A limp to be proud of? I don't know.
Most people don't wrestle with angels but they do accumulate various injuries during their lifetimes. I admire greatly those people who keep going, keep plugging, despite the injuries. I think about those last folks who close up the Boston Marathon. They are my heroes and they are here in this poem. Maybe you are, too.
Limp with me to the finish line.
You’ll support me and I’ll support you
and we’ll hobble along.
You’ll have blisters
and my knee is giving me trouble,
but we’ll do it anyway,
because,
damn it,
we earned every limp.
Every callous has a story.
Even the bum knee is part of our proud history.
So, while the workers are picking up 10,000 paper cups
and the press have all gone home.
As the sun sets in the early spring sky,
we’ll just keep limping along toward the finish line;
one step at a time;
holding each other up,
because we wouldn’t have it any other way.
And isn’t it better to finish the race last
than to have never have run it at all?
See you at the finish line.
וַיִּֽזְרַֽח־ל֣וֹ הַשֶּׁ֔מֶשׁ כַּאֲשֶׁ֥ר עָבַ֖ר אֶת־פְּנוּאֵ֑ל וְה֥וּא צֹלֵ֖עַ עַל־יְרֵכֽוֹ׃
The sun rose upon him as he passed Penuel, limping on his hip.
Genesis32:32