“God brought me to the edge of a cliff.
When I stepped forward,
He pushed me over.
Only then did I discover
that I had wings.”
— Robert H. Schuller
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But !!!
I had no wings.
Dozens of times.
Hundreds of times.
Thousands of times
I fell from that cliff—
yet never once
did I discover
that I could fly.
If I had wings,
they certainly never showed themselves.
All I ever found
was a body covered in dust,
bruised and scratched in many places,
and a life
that had somehow become
a little tougher,
a little more stubborn.
When I said,
“Please hold me up,”
I did not mean
“Push me off the cliff.”
By now
I rather wish
He would stop pushing.
The miracle of faith
is not soaring into the sky.
It is falling
and yet not dying.
It is brushing off the dust
and rising again.
And then,
looking back up
at the cliff above,
and beginning
the long walk upward
once more.
Perhaps that is
the greatest miracle
we ever experience
in ordinary life.