fallen

Rollerblading is definitely not like riding a bike. You know, the whole once-you-know-how-you-always-know-how theory.

My first thoughts when I put them on (I at least remembered how to buckle the straps) were of the new, black rollerblades I had as a kid. We had a lot of hand-me-downs (which I LOVE, always will), but every once in a while, we got something really big that was new. Like my first new bike, as in, I was the first person to ride it, that I got for Christmas in high school. Anyways, those shiny rollerblades were one of those kinds of things (unlike the painted white rollerskates from one of our cousins; I never understood how to balance on skates).

I remembered how I was so proud to take them to the rink on Friday nights, and I was careful not to get them too scratched up when I practiced on the road at home or sometimes just on the cement in the basement.

And back to reality, which isn’t like any of those memories, save that I am proud of my current rollerblades, not because they are new and shiny (they certainly aren’t either), but because I got them for $5 at a flea market in Grass Valley.

I sat down on a small line of brick near the ramp to the park. Upon standing, I suddenly realized that the sidewalk still had some decline before going up the ramp. Limbs stiff, I stood straight up as I rolled forward, picking up momentum until I hit the grate with a clunk. It was a shaky stop, but I managed not to fall.

I continued up the ramp. Then, of course, what goes up must come down. I eyed the decline with determination. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just go. (I didn’t know how to stop!) I had the brilliant plan to hold the railing and slowly coast down. The farther I went, the farther my feet got ahead of the rest of me.  I decided to let go for a second to catch up, but that was the worst idea. As I grabbed the railing again, my upper half slowed back down while my feet kept going full-speed. Fall #1.

I romped over the grass to get to the sidewalk (the rest of the way down didn’t have a railing). Once there, golden, so I thought. I wobbled each step, arms flailing like I was drowning in midair. Tenth Avenue North was blasting in my ears as the swift wind from the Sound brisked me along. Lift Us Up to Fall.

As I rolled along, tripping and stumbling, I realized how true those words were. I wanted to do it all on my own. I wanted to be a master rollerblader on try one. Just like I want to do everything on my own; I want to be good at everything all by myself. It just doesn’t work that way.

I’m slowly learning a need for a savior, why God alone is not whole without two other pieces. And I’m learning that that need is because no matter how many times the wind gives me the momentum to continue, I will stumble and fall.