Boots
God is in front of us like a boulder in the middle of the highway. Do I usually see and recognize His plan? No, I do not.
My husband and I try to schedule quarterly appointments with different doctors at the same hour in the same clinic.
First, we are escorted to a waiting room where we wait for blood to be drawn. We are sitting side-by-side and hear a woman commenting as she comes down the hallway and enters the room. Her words to the staff person are about her foot and wishing she had a walking boot.
After she settles in the chair directly across from us, I ask about her foot, letting her know I’d heard what she’d said.
She’s quick to explain about how her job in a big box store requires a lot of walking. She goes on to say, “I think I might need a walking boot….”
I ask what size shoe she wears.
“10,” she responds.
“I wear a 7½ or 8. And I happen to have a walking boot in the trunk of my car that we’re taking to a thrift store when we leave here. My boot is typical and open-toed, so it fits several sizes. You want it? You can have it.”
“Well, yes, I guess I do.”
My husband jumps up when the nurse calls his name. He’s a quick-draw every time. He returns in two or three minutes, and the nurse then calls my name. Before I leave, I hear my husband reassuring the other woman. “I’ll be right back with the boot.”
After my blood is drawn, I reenter the waiting room to find my husband handing my boot (which I haven’t worn in years) to a pleased woman.
She is full of gratitude.
“What great timing,” I say.
“A God-thing,” my husband adds. She and I are fast to agree with him.
After seeing our doctors, we drive 13 miles where we’ll drop off more memorabilia at a thrift store. I’m hopeful it’s just one of many trips to move some stored things along.
As we travel, the talk turns toward our doctors’ findings. My husband changes the topic and reveals his need for new work boots. That’s one thing he buys for himself.
“What size do you buy in work boots?”
“Size 8 but a 10 feels better!” he says, laughing. “What about you?”
“Oh, I wear a 6 but a 7 or 8 feels great!”
A scream and shout!
“You know what they say, ‘One size fits all,’” I say breathlessly.
Whooping and hollering!
Grinning, we let several miles go by.
“Who are ‘they’ anyway?” my husband asks.
“I don’t know, but what ‘they’ said when I was a kid was powerful!”
“I don’t much care about what they say…. Did you know our great-nephew wore his grandfather’s boots to the funeral last week? They didn’t quite fit, so he put on two pairs of socks and wore them.”
“So he honored his Papaw by wearing his boots?”
“Yep.”
I let that one sink in.
What a beautiful thing. He didn’t quite fill the boots, but he’d found a sweet way to celebrate the life of his Papaw.
Our culture so often saddens me. But here, this grand-nephew in his early thirties had found a quiet way to celebrate his Papaw’s life—by wearing his boots.
A remnant of hope. It may be quiet, but it’s here and walking among us.
Stay awake—Jesus came and He’s coming again.
Wishing you happy Advent days as we wait.
Pat Durmon
(patdurmon.com)
P.S. Thank you for your precious comments. You inspire me to keep writing. Under the image below are links to Amazon pages where you can purchase any of my four poetry books. Your support is always greatly appreciated!
His boots.
