I took a tumble a little over 9 years ago. I thought it was a fall. I really did. And truthfully, it was a fall -- of more than one kind. And I picked myself up as best I could and carried on. But then, almost 6 years ago, I took a real fall. One that made me realize what I had mistaken for a fall just a few years before was just a tumble really. You might even say I'd just tripped.
But back to the actual "fall" almost 6 years ago. I got up. I dusted myself off and carried on, one step at a time, for 5 1/2 years. Now, though, I'm ready to stop just "carrying on" and to actually rise. Move beyond just getting by.
Because some day, my son and daughter may also take a fall. Of course, I hope they never do, but life being what it is makes me know they almost surely will. And when they do, I want them to have learned by my example that a fall isn't the end, that it may bruise and even bloody a person, but it doesn't have to defeat them.
Instead, that a person can get up . . . rise up . . . and soar.