What saves a man is to take a step. Then another step. It is always the same step, but you have to take it.
~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Wind, Sand and Stars, 1939 (translated)
Dear Toe,
I know I haven’t pampered you my whole life. When I was young, I’d run around barefoot all the time. Now, my job requires me to wear heels most days and I’m sure that isn’t very comfortable for you. And I don’t give you pedicures like many other women do for their toes.
But you see, I have this… thing. I hate people touching you. Think of it as me wanting you all for myself and not allowing others to touch you. Well, except for Huzzy when I allow a rare foot massage.
But that doesn’t mean that you get to rebel and make me to go to 98,754 doctors appointments and to go see a podiatrist. You may not know it, but a podiatrist is someone who specializes in touching feet. My worst nightmare.
It’s been 6 weeks, Toe. Six weeks since you found a random carpet staple. Six weeks of antibiotics (and now we have to begin our 5th round of it). Six weeks of wrapping and unwrapping you twice a day. You made me limp during my first drill weekend. And now, you’ll be making me feel like a putz for this drill weekend when I can’t participate in PT again.
And, Toe… do you realize what the doctor is talking about when he’s talking about numbing you up and doing the “cookie cutter” procedure if you don’t get better by the time we return from our vacation? He wants to stick a long needle in you. Then he wants to take a KNIFE or something and cut part of you out.
Do you realize what that will be like, Toe? How painful? Crutches? Stitches? Yeah, you think about that before you rebel again. In fact, why don’t you shape up now and make that thing go away so that we don’t even have to get to that point.
Thanks in advance for your help,
Wifey, who is tired of this
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Dear Adversary,
I’ve finally figured out why things have been going so wrong in my life. Apparently, you’ve decided to visit me. It took me a while to figure that out. It took me until I was sitting on the floor in front of the toilet throwing up because of all the stress and because the randomly leaky toilet was my last straw. I was sitting there bawling because I didn’t know how much longer I could take everything and finally I called out to God for His strength to get me through this, because I know that’s the only way I can do it.
And it was then that it struck me. I know I don’t attend church anymore (but have already had one picked out in Washington that I want to visit), but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God. And I do know the story of Job inside and out. I realized I was being tested by you just like Job was.
Now, my flocks haven’t been destroyed by lightning, my beasts of burden haven’t been carried away by plundering tribes, my servants haven’t been put to the sword (okay, I don’t have servants, but still), and no mighty wind has killed my seven sons and three daughters.
But I realize I am being tested. And I realize that the toilet deciding to randomly start leaking horrible amounts of water while I was just trying to get the house ready for sale was another test on top of the bajillion we are already dealing with.
And I understand that it’s you, Adversary, who is doing this. God is allowing you to test me, just like he allowed you to test Job, but I also know that He is there with me, just like He was with Job.
So bring it on, Adversary. You aren’t going to get me to turn from God and you aren’t going to break me. No matter what. And no matter what, God will have my back. So there.
And in the words of my youth: nanny-nanny-boo-boo… plleeebbbt (as I stick my tongue out)!
You might as well give up because I’m not,
Wifey
