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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic
"Feet" is a short-story prequel to "My Walk With God" - the true story of a deeply emotional journey. Look for it soon on Kindle!

PS: To my best friend, the big toe ...

Submitted: January 06, 2014

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Submitted: January 06, 2014



~~My feet have taken many steps in my life; on many different roads,  in every conceivable direction.  They have traveled uphill and down, in straight lines and in circles.  Along cold stony paths and soft sandy beaches, and down long, winding, bramble-filled trails that seem to go on forever.

My feet have grown numb from the cold and been burnt by the sun.They have been scraped, cut and blistered.  My toes and ankles have swollen so much that no shoe would fit me and yet, I've kept walking.

Truth be told there are other, more convenient modes of travel available nowadays.  And there have been times when my feet have absolutely refused to take one more step.  Everybody needs a break once in a while I guess - even stubborn, stinky feet.  So rest they did, when they could no longer feel the path below them; they relaxed, and breathed, until they could once again carry their heavy load down another new trail.

Why do they do it?  I wonder privately, when in the dark night I ponder  such things.  Hour after hour, day after day, why do they do it, and how?

You would think with all the blood they have shed feet would be a trifle bit shy of brand new adventures.  You could, in fact, easily understand if, one fine, bright morning, they just refused to get up and get ready for work.  Feet receive no gratitude really, for all of their efforts.  In all of the award shows Ive ever seen, not one winning nominee has ever dedicated his Oscar or Emmy or Golden Globe to any part of his  anatomy south of the knees.  No CD or book has ever been dedicated "To my friend, the big toe", and sadly, that may never come to pass.

So why do they do it? I wonder again, but the question seems bigger than before, as if the clouds have lifted before my eyes, and a truth as bright and golden warm as the sun comes streaming in.

Every single person on this planet, from the beginning of all creation until the end of the world as we know it, has always and will always face hardships in their lives,  They sweat, and they bleed, and when at times their burdens get too heavy, they rest for abit and let someone else carry the load.  And for all of their trials, what thanks do they receive?  Every time they stand up, something seems to come along and knock them back down.  For every step taken, there is a pitfall waiting to happen.  And yet ... they keep walking.

To truly understand the bigger picture, it is vitally important to examine the details.  To understand the human being, we start with ... the feet.

Feet walk because it is their destiny to do so.  They walk because they CAN.  Although they may complain and grumble and swell up under a  hot sun, they live in anticipation of rejoicing in the cool, green shade. They tingle with gratitude as the ocean waves crash over them, and  the toes get giddy and drunk as they sink into the cool, wet sand below.
Likewise, the living soul should rejoice in every breath taken, for we are given such a limited number of them here on Earth.  Every sight, smell and sound should be relished with the same reckless abandon that our feet accord a  sloppy, brown mud puddle.  The scars we bear from our past battles should be worn gladly, without shame; for without the battle scars, there would be no memory of the battle, and without the battle, no victory, or dance.

My father was almost 50 years old when I was born, and he had severe health issues which eventually rendered him paralyzed on the left side of his body.  He suffered through many years of painful surgeries, drugs, and constant physical rehabilitation.  He had to give up hunting, fishing, and eventually even driving.  His transition was painful to watch; he was sullen, combative, and obstinately emphatic that he would be made whole again.  Unfortunately, that never fully happened.

One day, when I was just a little girl, my daddy was sitting outside of our apartment in Atlanta, Georgia, in a very foul mood.  He would communicate to us later that he felt very angry at his situation, helpless … lost.

An elderly man came jogging along the path behind the apartment where my daddy was sitting and, seeing that my daddy was alone, stopped for a while to chat.  It didn't seem to matter to this stranger that my father couldn't form words, or that his arm wouldn't straighten to shake hands properly.  They just sat as two old men do and talked.  My dad learned this stranger had been through open heart surgery, and that one of his legs was a prosthetic.  He was a cancer survivor, and still somehow, an eternal optimist.  My father was forever humbled by this conversation, and I have always considered it a message from God to be thankful for what you have, and remember those who have it not:

-- I cried because I had no shoes,

Then I met a man who had no feet

-- unknown

© Copyright 2019 Lace Byndingz. All rights reserved.

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