The Samaritan forgot when he’d chosen shuffle over stride. Pain hadn’t stopped him. Dragging his drooping left foot across hot, sharp rocks produced no sensation at all. After a dozen falls gave as many painless, oozing wounds, sliding seemed safer. He clutched his robe close with the remainder of his left hand. His right hand—still with solid thumb and index finger—raised, swinging his staff forward in the familiar cadence—thump, slide; thump, slide. Sometimes, he’d keep rhythm with one of his Hebrew companions—until they noticed. He thought it fun, but they said fun was not for punished sinners.

They topped the path’s low rise and saw, heading towards the same village, a small, excited crowd. Why did all those faces gleam, he wondered? Malik answered, “Because they eat every day and oil their hair. Even you’d glitter.” The others snickered.

No, something looked different. There, the one in front, the one the others looked to. Could it be? Sudden, hot hope burst out as he cried with more strength than he owned, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

His companions joined the clamber, the crowd stopped, and the man called back to them, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” Kind direction compelled more fiercely than shouted command. As they wheeled about, he stepped high, with strong, unscarred foot. The Hebrews ran on laughing and leaping, but he stopped short, gawking at ten whole toes and ten straight fingers. Then, he turned again, ran down the hill, and threw himself at the man’s feet, weeping and laughing an unbroken string of thanks.

So, what happened the last time that you, a child of the King, realized you’d lost wonder and gratitude and had, instead, grown accustomed to salvation and used to redemption?

Genesis 40:12-23; Romans 1:21; Ecclesiastes 9:13-16; John 14:5-14; Luke 12:19; Luke 17:11-19; Luke 24:25