Whoever thought falls were supposed to be funny?

My family habitually gathered to watch comedy shows when there was only one TV in the home and changing channels was by consensus. I sat through slapstick comedy full of falls and laughter. I was not amused. I worried: had the person been hurt?

I try to avoid falling.

It seems that every episode of falling ends with me being limited in some way for some time. One moment I am up, walking where I want to go, in control. The next moment, I have no semblance of control and am where I never planned to be, sprawled on the ground, bewildered and injured.

In my teenage years, falling in love did not appeal much to me either. It wasn’t the loving and being loved that irked me, but the falling. Why couldn’t I walk into the experience rationally, intelligently, and intentionally? Falling always leads to bruises.

Rather than falling in love, I would much prefer to walk in love. No tripping, no stumbling. No panicky groping.

I want to walk in love with stability and security — in mutual giving and sacrificial living — with beloved ones now and my Beloved Christ always, just as He first loved me, and gave Himself up for me.