“If you see someone at risk of falling, alert a police officer or other train personnel.”
If only announcements like that ran across my forehead and the memos chanted such every 10 minutes of my personal life.
“If you see Melissa at risk of falling, alert her because she probably doesn’t know it.”
What version of “to fall” fits best here? The noun or the verb? What is the context in which I can describe the falling that led to the nature of my brokenness? Brokenness delivered by the Christian synonym of falling. Backslide. Backslidden from the truth of what I know that I want and instead, present in the reality that there is no parallelism connecting that truth and my fall.
At what point did I fall? When I answered his call or when I agreed to see him? At what point did either become an act of falling? When we first met and I began to fall in love or when I knew couldn’t be together but danced on the yellow line of the platform, ignoring the resounding announcements warning me of my risk of falling.
Must I allow my flirtation with falling to become a habit in which I’ve become unaware of the danger it presents? Last time I checked, falling means I wasn’t planted on my feet. I supposed I’ve become accustomed to leaning over that platform edge, expecting my fixed gaze down the dark tunnel to change the speed of the transition to my next destination in life but instead I flirt with falling. Landing painfully on the cold, hard tracks. Getting up clothed in scratches and bruises. Relying heavily on my Father to pull me up from impending doom, only to fall back down collecting more cuts and welts for him to mend.
Or perhaps falling is the wrong word to have used here. I could surely give myself more credit than I give to inanimate objects I myself have dropped. Pens, paper and phones fall. To say that I have fallen could connect to an action that was completely out of my control. A push I did not see coming. A drop I hadn’t expect from the anchored hands that holds me.
With immutable masochism I must have thrown myself off because He would never let me fall. But maybe I’m doing this whole falling thing incorrectly. Perhaps I should be falling into the arms of the Father who breaks my fall so that when my train comes, I’m in a safe place to step on in and get to my destination.
“Stand clear of the closing doors please.”
