The sun rose above him as he passed Peniel, and he was limping because of his hip.
Genesis 32:31
A song for Father Jacob:
I know a little possum,
Pedro is his name.
I cannot help but notice
That one back leg is lame.
Still, he strolls his promised land—
Edge of our back yard.
He limps along serenely
As if it isn’t hard.
My husband sees him often
Patrolling after dark.
Too late for me—I’m dreaming.
But he catches at my heart.
Some would say our Christian faith
Might be better named.
Pedro might agree
That custom tends to tame.
We’re called to be a little wild
While to Creator tuned
As day and night we limp along
The sacred Way of the Wound.
Everlasting Arms 