It's been almost a month since my foot surgery, having 7 mm two bones removed and a few screws now with me forever. And I do feel screwed.
One of my teaching cohorts once remarked how my toes are as big as Dum-Dum suckers, as my foot will never be a centerfold layout. Now more than ever, the toes are super-sized Dum-dums, and I am still in hobble mode with this armored-car of a boot, black, hot, and fleece lined.
No one really knows how wide a parking lot can be, or how long a dollar store aisle is, or the true circumference on the Oxford Square until you sport one of these. Yesterday, a big shiny black truck revved his big overcompensating-for-something engine at me, waiting for me and the boot to cut the Square in half, waking through the diameter to get to the only available parking space located on the other side during a Saturday afternoon.
I see cyclists with shirts flapping in the breeze, dog owners walking Rover, who has this big satisfied grin, and a few just in mid-stroll chatting, and my heart bleeds. It bleeds for all the things I took for granted. The simple things, now difficult.
My heart bleeds for those who have a lifetime of watching life roll by faster than they can move.
More than painful, immobility is down-right frustrating. When you can feel the bike seat underneath, hear the wind whizz your ear, and feel the sun on your neck, frustration alone could plant this boot in a few unmentionable places. And more tears have been shed over frustration than pain.
If God is trying to teach me patience, I'd like the accelerated course, please. And I'd like it now.
Now.
I just don't do slow well.
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