Comfort, yes, comfort My people!’ says your God. Isaiah 40:1

  
Warning: slightly gross and unnecessary pictures in this post. 

I diagnosed my toe as broken on September 14. 

I hurt it in the middle of September. I took pictures (at least a dozen). Lucky recepients received a picture almost immediately. You, however, had to wait. The good news is, you now get the picture AND  a post. Good things come to those who get stuff late (or something like that). 

I had tried to convince myself that I was being dramatic. I hobbled to church the evening I hurt it because that's we do when we "adult", we keep moving. 

  
After a mostly good night's sleep (when I didn't roll wrong and writhe in pain),  I woke up to my foot having grown increasingly bruised and puffy. 

Sidenote (because I know you may be curious as to how this happened): I was running down the sidewalk barefoot and jumped over our brick edging, not clearing a brick with my left pinky toe. The pain was so severe, it left me mute for five minutes. 

  

For the first week after the injury I wore my gold Old Navy sandals; the ones I've had since approximately 2006. They're stretchy and the strap goes between my first two toes which worked because nothing was allowed to touch my third through fifth toes or the top left part of my foot. I walked pigeon-toed with my left leg. (I walk a lot working with small groups at school ...so I needed a system.)

Two weeks later I worked my way back into my Converse tennis. I was pleased with my progress. 

A little over five weeks have passed. Yesterday I decided, that healed, I would wear my favorite boots because it was looking to be a beautiful fall day.  They're brown and cute. They make my feet look smaller and my legs longer. 

It was an especially long day. 

My left pinky toe was quite the trooper; so much so that I decided to put on those same cute boots again this morning. That's when my fifth toe protested announcing its promise that it would make known (by way of pain) how foolish I am should I decide to go through with my initial choice in cute footwear. 

No, I remembered, my pinky toe does not play around. 

Instead I chose a pair of tan fuzzy Sketcher boots who also joined my shoe family around 2006, and whose middle name is comfort. I slid the left one on gently, seeking consent. 

My toe sighed relief.  

My comfy Sketchers served me well today. I am resting in my sock feet currently, but will put them back on as I go to church in an hour. Paired with a dressy black sweater, my ensemble is wrong on a number of levels.  I imagine that some may wonder why such apparel has been chosen. 

One word. 

Comfort. 

We do have to keep going, and sometimes our cute boots don't cut it. Comfort is what we need. 

I mentioned in a recent post that I made a closet into a prayer room. This morning I didn't want to leave it. But as the adult world would have it, we have jobs and kids. We have busy schedules. And no matter how much our ailing pinky toe (or in some cases, our pained heart) says otherwise, we have to pick ourselves up by our fuzzy Sketcher bootstraps and keep on walking. 

Sometimes comfort comes in the form of the right footwear. But I find that the kind of comfort  I seek on a daily basis is found in prayer where my I cast my weary soul to the healer.  Words of comfort penned tenderly for me get me through a long day. I look to chapters that start in suffering and then move to victory. 

As cross as my pinky toe and I have been, this is something on which we agree. 

Nahum 1:7 The LORD is good, a stronghold in the day of trouble; he knows those who take refuge in him.

Don't forget to subscribe if you want to receive these posts by email.