For the last three weeks I have been walking around in flats, sandals and slippers. During the last three weeks I have not worn a shoe with a heel at work nor at play, and it sucks.
I have not been walking tall, I have been cut down to my natural height and it’s been revealing for the people around me. It seems that they are shocked and delighted that I am short. “You look so short,” they say while looking at me up and down. “Wow I never knew that you were so short” as they reach over my head to reach something. While the shortest of them gloat, “ We are the same height.”
I suffered through the ignominy of it all because I though that this heelless situation would be temporary as well as the fact that I cannot stand for a minute in a heel without pain. When I stand in heels, the pain shoots straight through my tibia up to my knee and I hurry to take them off. Over the last three weeks I have been humbled by my shortness and am now fully reconciled with it.
I have also had to live through the pangs for a run, and learned to not envy the runners and to cast my gaze elsewhere when I see them run past my car.
Today with great joy I went for the eagerly awaited MRI. I have been thinking of the MRI as the first step in the healing process, since it will lead to diagnosis and therapy that will get me back in heels and running shoes.
As I laid down, getting prepped for the machine I was pretty happy. I listened to the technician’s warnings about the service, relaxed and fell asleep despite the noisiness of the machine.
When the technician returned to the room, he said, “Your calf must be sore”. My heart sunk. My calf has not been sore, but surely he saw something that allowed him to make that conclusion. I felt deflated. I did not ask him to elaborate. I thanked him for his service and bolted from the room.
I spent the rest of the evening throwing myself a pity party. My poor foot, I cannot wear heels, and I cannot run. My mind raced to a shopping trip for better looking flats and a new exercise and diet regime to compensate for the lack of running. The more I thought about it the sadder I got.
Then I remembered my self prophecy – by March 2015 I will be running and wearing heels. That memory brought hope. Sure my foot is busted now, but by March it will be better. Sure I have to be short now, but by March I will be back in heels, walking tall. Just like that my mood changed. I decided that I will be in the doctor’s office on the first working day of the year and I am starting therapy as soon as possible. The road to healing will be clearly laid out and I am going to walk that road until I can run.
What are you prophesying for 2015? What parts of you need healing? What are you going to do about it?