Dancing Shoes. Hard decision

I have dreams of dancing…lightly and effortlessly. Swooshy dress, dancing shoes…heels. Held in someone’s arms, who isn’t the least bit worried about me falling.

I’ve reconciled to someday be in that dress, in those shoes, in those arms…and to dance.  Someday.  Even if in Heaven.

Because I know it will happen.  I will be healed.  I will be light and effortless.  And it will be Joy.

But a surgeon at Emory says he can help me now. On September 12, to be exact.

He can make my toes straight by cutting the tendons, and he can make my heel touch the floor by lengthening my Achilles tendon and fusing my ankle in place. And he says sandals and 1″ heels are in the near future.

So here’s the thing I’m sifting through:  This woman as IS, the walker with a limp and curled toes, the carrier of the cane…is a woman after God’s heart.

This heart, broken with loss, is the healed heart. Fully healed.

Amazed and transformed through what I thought I couldn’t bear, this woman loves Jesus. This woman sees joy in pain. The endless possibilities through what I can’t do. A grateful soul that wouldn’t ever give back the experience of what I lost.  The marriage, the stroke, the self-focus, the vanity , the preoccupation with the mirror. All of it.

See, I don’t want HER back.

I just want God. And I long for deep, deeper, deeper still.

Will I be besotted with my pretty toes in sandals? What will my eyes be drawn to without a cane to slow my gait? Will God be honored in my life if the thorn is gone?

Active faith.

Showing up on 9/12.

Expectantly waiting.

Willing again to be changed.





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