Broken Toes/Unbroken Faith

A funny thing used to happen to me – I broke toes. Not all of them at once, and usually just the little ones. What makes this funny is that is always happened around the same time each year. It even became a running joke between my ex-husband and I. When February rolled around one year, my ex commented to me that “it must be that time of year again – for me to break a toe.” Ha.

Normally I broke toes the normal way – bumping into furniture and such. One time is special though, and uber-embarrassing: I was trying to learn how to salsa dance, and I was barefoot. And it gets better…I was going off some videos and step-by-step guides from the internet. My sister used to show my tap and ballet moves from her dance classes at Baylor, and that is when I became a secret dancer. I would never dance in public, but I often twirled and boogied about in the privacy of my home. I had always wanted to learn how to salsa, so I decided to teach myself.

I will not go into all the fun details, but the end was not good – a broken my pinky toe. My ex-husband got a good chuckle out of it as he helped me hobble around the house for a few days. By this point, I was a toe-breaking veteran, so I knew there was not much a doctor could do. And I also did not want to have to explain to my doctor how I injured myself, and what possessed me to break out in dance.

Even though I was using simplified and probably inaccurate information, I decided to just go with it myself. I went off-script and ended up getting hurt. For one, I also should have been wearing proper shoes – or any shoes.

Moving from Houston to Tulsa was a big step for my husband and I. Granted, it wasn’t like we were going off to Timbuktu, but it was still big. We were leaving everything that was comfortable for us, and going somewhere unfamiliar. I learned a lot about walking in faith, and it’s actually not that different from learning how to salsa – there are specific instructions that must be followed, proper attire required (the armor of God), and going off on my own will lead to troubles.

It has been a while since I have broken any toes – I am more aware of my surroundings and I watch where I am going more often. And I wear shoes. The same can be said for my walk in God – my feet are ready and protected, and I am keeping my eyes on my path so that I know where I am headed.


Everything is red –

his eyes, his blood,

his skin, his life.

Seed of the stars,

born of winged graces

with feathers

stained in scarlet.

And white –

purity in his legend.

But now he survives

in crimson hues

as he moves like

the great birds of prey

through the world.

Rest will come eventually –

for now, he must soar.


Hope is not lost –

even when you

cannot see in the dark,

even when your fears

taunt you from behind

closed doors.

Just wait and see,

in the moments

before you resign

yourself to the black.

Look up as the light

bursts through

like fireworks and

shatters the still night.

For hope is never gone.

The Great Finger Saga

The human body is really amazing – so uniquely and beautifully designed. Every part of us, big and small, plays a role in every daily function. If one system is out of balance, it can affect the whole body. It took a slightly weird and very painful experience to remind me how special my body really is.

This whole ordeal began with a simple broken nail – the shorten version of the story is that my finger ended up getting very infected. My doctor prescribed antibiotics, but that did not make anything better. I could not drive, type, or write. Even showering became a long and laborious process. I had little use of my left hand and arm.

Sleeping was another chore because I had to position my hand just right, so as not to bump it on anything. I am almost embarrassed to admit that my finger made me cry on more than one occasion (the few times I bumped it on something). It was both funny and frustrating how this one finger had so impacted my whole body

After a week, my doctor decided that my finger needed surgery. Nothing major – a simple procedure to get rid of the infection. I won’t go into all the details, but in case anyone is wondering, I do still have my whole finger. Anyway, I marched myself down to the Would Care office to be sliced and diced.

The process of numbing my hand was not a fun experience at all. (I am curious why the needles used for local anesthetic have to be so long) Within 30 minutes, the operation was over and my finger was bound in a cocoon of gauze. I stopped by the pharmacy to fill a prescription for pain medication, and then went home.

That first evening was way too much fun for me to ever repeat again. My finger throbbed so badly, I thought my heart had set up temporary quarters in my fingertip. I spent the next several days with my left hand above my heart to keep the finger from throbbing.

The pain subsided, but I still had to be careful. All told, it would be another six weeks before my finger was healed enough that I could begin to use it again. My finger saga lasted a total of two months. Two months for a finger! That one little finger was much more important than I realized, and it being injured had hampered me.

The Bible calls Christians the body of Christ, with Jesus as the head and the church as the members of the body. Every one of us has an important role to play, regardless of what you may think. It is easy to see yourself as small next to spiritual giants like Oral Roberts and Kenneth Copeland, but God needs you just as much as He needs those men.

Jesus tells a story in Luke 15 of a shepherd who lost one of his sheep. Now he had 100 total, so it would seem rational to forget about the one and concentrate on the 99 that were not lost. But every member of this man’s flock was important to him; he searched for, and found the lamb that was missing.

If one member of the body is faltering, then the body cannot function as effectively. Everyone is necessary and special. Every part of the body is important – from the brain to the pinky toe. Nothing and no one is insignificant.



In 2007, I was hired by a retail company that required its employees to wear closed-toe shoes. For most people this would not be a problem, but for me, this was very unpleasant news. Up until that time, I had been the proud owner of one pair of shoes. Yes, one. Uno. Solo.

Why is my collection so exclusive and singular in its roster? I could lie and say I am a most unusual and extreme elitist. But really, I have ogre feet (think Shrek) and comfy shoes are hard to come by. As a matter of fact, I almost abhor shoe shopping. I have been content in my almost too-big “Ye Olde Nurse Betty” sandals until the time came to find new shods for my tootsies.

The time arrived for the dread event, and there I was, on Sunday afternoon, trying on shoe after shoe after shoe as my sister worked hard to compete with – well herself really – in the quest to find my glass slipper. My feet had not seen the inside of a sock in months, let alone pretty Tommy Hillfiger tennis shoes. Yes, she won. They were unfamiliar to me and my feet, and I tripped over those pretty white sneaks more than once. I am very much out of my podiatric (is that a word?) comfort zone.

It is not a lot of fun to be thrust (sometimes literally, and with socks) into a place or situation that demands immediate change. But there is always a choice…stay in your bubble of complacent comfort with sandals that give blisters when you walk in them too much because they do not fit properly, OR slip into new shoes that may feel a little weird at first but are a better choice in the long run. Cinderella had it easy.