One of them, when he saw that he was healed,
turned back, praising God with a loud voice.
He prostrated himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him.
And he was a Samaritan.
The Samaritan, the foreigner, the outsider.
Not accustomed to being treated well.
Not burdened with a sense of entitlement.
How often I expect life to go well because,
well, because I’m a good person and I deserve it.
How we privileged folks take our blessings for granted.
What if I were to shed that arrogance, lay down
the burden of expecting everything to be fine,
and greet every grace with wonder and amazement?
I’d spend my life at the feet of Jesus. I’d burst
into flames, a burnt offering of thanksgiving.
I’d be glad. Always. Every breath I’d start again.
Every moment would become miraculous.
I’d become impervious to heartache.
I’d spend my life dancing.
What am I waiting for?
October 11, 2019