The Limp I Ignore

A Reflection on Psalm 32

I walk with a limp. I have for a long time. It goes back to a tragic wiffle ball injury when I was in college. I wish I had been doing something heroic—diving to make the game-winning catch—but no. I’m pretty sure I’m the only person in the world who has broken his ankle in two places and torn ligaments simply by picking up a wiffle ball after the game. The injury never healed quite right, and as I’ve aged—combined with a 25-year history of back problems—I walk with a limp. It’s been with me so long that I don’t even remember what it feels like to walk without one. So, I ignore it.

I do this all the time. I convince myself that if I ignore something long enough, it will just go away. Maybe no one will notice. Maybe I won’t have to face the consequences. But it doesn’t go away—it just festers.

I can live with a limp. But the weight of the things I try to ignore—the real burdens—are too much. My silence isn’t neutral. It’s corrosive.

It eats at me from the inside. It shows up in my body—in the tension I carry in my shoulders, in the restless nights, in the anxiety that bubbles up when I least expect it. It nearly killed me once (literally). And I’m convinced God wants so much more for me than that. In Psalm 32, David wrote:

While I kept silence, my body wasted away through my groaning all day long. (Psalm 32:3)

The Hebrew word for “wasted away” in this psalm suggests decay, erosion. This isn’t just emotional distress—it’s physical.

Modern brain science confirms what David intuits: unspoken guilt and shame manifest in our bodies. Sleepless nights, anxiety, exhaustion, and worse.

What else have I carried so long it feels normal? What would happen if I set it down?

David continues in verse 5:

Then I acknowledged my sin… and you forgave the guilt of my sin.

The words guilt, shame, and sin carry a lot of baggage for me (and for many within my faith tradition), largely because of a widely accepted, preached, and taught “gospel” that is more rooted in guilt than grace. But I see sin—and its consequences—as all the ways I consciously and unconsciously settle for less than what God offers. The ways I actively and passively resist God’s way of life and love in the world.

And guilt? Shame? When I read the Bible, I only ever hear one voice pronouncing God’s people “guilty” or only worthy of shame—and that voice doesn’t belong to God. No matter how many loud voices attribute it to God to push their agenda.

David says, Then I acknowledged my sin… and you forgave the guilt of my sin. And the weight lifts.

While I stay silent, my body wastes away. But when I’m honest—when I quit pretending—I realize God can carry the weight that is slowly killing me. Acknowledging sin isn’t an act of shame, guilt, or fear—it is an act of trust.

And God’s forgiveness? It isn’t the end of the story. It’s the beginning.

I think of the story of the prodigal son. He rehearses his confession, but before he can even get the words out, his father is already running toward him. God’s response to our confession isn’t reluctance—it’s relief.

What might God be running toward me to heal? And why do I keep running away?

I sense God saying, That weight you are carrying—why don’t you put it down? Will I trust enough to let it go?

I want to.

I want to hear the voice of love say, Brian, you are loved, known, forgiven, and free.