The Hand That Reaches

I heard a story the other day about who becomes a Navy Seal. The person went on to describe who ‘doesnt’ become a Navy Seal. The muscle tattoo bound soldier and the leader who delegates everything were just two examples. He then went on to describe the guy who does become a Seal. The guy who is spent physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. The guy who has nothing left in his tank. The guy who regardless of what he needs, reaches down or back or sideways to pick up the guy next to him. This is the one who becomes a Navy Seal.

Much the same in recovery. We do service to give away what we have been so freely given. This poem was inspired by the Navy Seal story.

The Hand That Reaches

I have fallen, spent and broken,

Body trembling, spirit torn.

All my strength has turned to vapor,

Every battle leaves me worn.

I have fought, I have resisted,

I have bent but not yet bowed.

Yet the weight of my own failing

Presses heavy like a shroud.

Then a voice—not mine—reminds me,

Not to rise, but first to give.

Not to grasp for what I’m lacking,

But to help another live.

To my left, I see him struggle,

To my right, another fades.

And though hollowed, weak, and empty,

Still my hand, unbidden, stays.

I reach down when I am nothing,

Lift them up, though I may fall.

And in giving, I am lifted,

Finding strength beyond it all.

For the ones who stand unyielding

Are the ones who stand as two.

Not alone, but bound together—

I am saved by saving you.