Life, More than Bare Feet or Irritating Socks

Socks! The first thing I did this morning was take them off. Off? Yes. You see, it’s been very cold where we live—minus 27degrees below zero this morning. If my feet are cold, I can’t go to sleep. So I wear socks to bed.

After a couple of weeks with socks on, not only during all waking moments but during all moments, I long for the freedom of air on my feet. In fact, this morning I put on sandals (I still need a corrective shoe for my left foot, as I'm unwilling to submit to surgery on it as I did the right foot) and reveled in the freedom of contact with air.

Before the sandals, however, as I was about to grumble to myself, I thought of a lady I met yesterday at the rheumatologist’s office. She’s close to my age, but her rheumatoid arthritis took over before the present-day biologic drugs were available. To walk at all she wore huge boot-affairs, a cross between the cast I wore during my surgery and an oxford. She didn’t stand on the soles of her feet, but the shoe/boot provided a platform enabling her to shuffle forward with the help of crutches.

My limited experience with crutches, abandoned for a Roll-a-Bout, scared me. I wondered how anyone could ever deal with them because they put so much pressure on the shoulders and hands—other problematic joints. Praise God for the people who work with problems. Her crutches had forearm extensions that bore her weight. With the crutches to hold her up, and with the shoe/boots as her platform, she moved—slowly.

But before I saw her move, as she sat with the rest of us in a row of recliners set up to hold patients receiving infusions of Remicade—she revealed her pleasant nature. A affable nurse with health problems of her own administers the procedure, and we visit. About our peculiar health issues at the moment, the weather (it was 21 degrees below zero yesterday morning), our kids and grandkids, whatever. The special lady was confused about a few things, but oh, she was lovely.

We’ve all heard about wanting new shoes—until seeing someone without feet. I needed a fresh view to quicken my appreciation for my feet and other blessings as well. I’m mobile.

Mobile! I can walk where I want. Oh, I get tired more quickly than I’d like—but I am, after all, getting older. And my hands are weak—the effect of damage before I started the new drug—but there are ways to adjust. I live a normal life, am in better shape that some without a chronic disease.

The image of my new friend is so vivid that I hesitate to say I’m blessed—because it might imply that others with major problems aren’t blessed. The gal I met yesterday probably feels blessed as well. Her demeanor said as much.

I am grateful. I’m grateful to my Lord who builds me up when I turn to Him, who reminds me that life is more than air on bare feet or irritating socks. Grateful for a husband who didn’t want me to drive by myself (the temperature yesterday morning was 21 degrees below zero!), even though the drive, the doctor’s visit, and the procedure took over four hours. Grateful for medical procedures and doctors who know when the procedures will help people like myself—and people like the woman who is already marked by a disease but is, nevertheless, helped with a new medication.

I surely don’t understand it all. Don’t have answers. But, nevertheless, my testimony is that all things work together for good to those who love God . . . . (Rom. 8:28a NKJV) Amazing. Yes. I'm grateful. So grateful.