Learning to Walk Again

When Maria Chen shattered her knee in a cycling accident outside Portland, her physical therapist, James, told her something she did not want to hear: "You're going to have to trust me more than you trust your own instincts."

For weeks, every nerve in Maria's body screamed to protect the injured leg, to favor it, to refuse the weight. James would stand beside her at the parallel bars, hands steady, voice calm. "Lean into it. I know it feels wrong. But this is the path back." She would grip the bars until her knuckles whitened, tears streaming, certain she would fall. She never did — not once — because James never moved from her side.

What struck Maria most was what James never did. He never once mentioned the reckless downhill speed that caused the accident. He never said, "Well, if you hadn't been so careless." He treated her with a kindness that had no memory of blame, only a fierce patience aimed at restoration.

This is the God David describes in Psalm 25. "Show me your ways, Lord, teach me your paths," David prays — not from a place of confidence, but from a place of need. He asks the Almighty to forget the sins of his youth and remember him instead according to mercy. And God does. Every path of the Lord, David declares, is lovingkindness and truth. He is the therapist who never steps away, who bears no grudge, who guides the trembling soul one faithful step at a time.