Feet Without Bass Weejuns
“ but those who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength,
they shall mount up with wings like eagles,
they shall run and not be weary,
they shall walk and not faint.” Isaiah 40:31
A rainy Friday night in January, 1967. I am a junior in medical school in Memphis on my way home in my Volkswagen Bug after my major weekly indulgence of a hair appointment. It has been an eventful day early on in my obstetrical rotation. I deliver stillborn twins. I do not remember showing any pastoral care to that mother. I am just there to learn how to deliver babies. My long-term goal is to be a pediatrician and care for babies, especially newborns.
Suddenly, there is a loud noise, and my little red car abruptly stops. For a few seconds it is darker than usual. I cannot find my brown Bass Weejun loafers. One knee is dislocated. My chin is bleeding. My ankles and feet hurt. I know I cannot walk. Later I am told I was hit head-on by a drunk driver in a black Cadillac making a left turn into a bar. My parents come to care for me. They are told I might not walk again. If I walk, I learn, I will never have Weejuns on my feet again, always special supportive shoes!
I must leave medical school and join a lower class six months later. Over time, I begin an amazing lifelong career as a pediatric radiologist, as I decide that this specialty might be easier on my feet. Today, more than fifty years later, I still suffer from the injuries I endured in that crash. Even after multiple surgeries, each step can sometimes be very painful on my feet and ankles. I now walk with a quad cane.
Nineteen years ago, I become involved in a new ministry and am now an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Church. Today I work much of the time with people in various types of recovery. I am also trained as a spiritual director, since this also can be a “sitting down and listening ministry.”
Although I have retired from my medical practice, the time I spent working in hospitals has taught me to be comfortable around the sick. I have now also been trained as a pastoral care chaplain in the Community of Hope, and weekly visit or connect those in the hospital and homebound.
When I experience pain in my feet, especially on these visits as I walk down long hospital corridors, I remind myself about a balm. The ministries I have loved, which have brought joy to my life: my career in pediatric radiology, working in recovery, becoming a spiritual director, being a pastoral caregiver—all have opened up to me as a direct result of my broken feet.
All of my ministries in the world developed from a response to injuries that the world inflicted on my body. That which caused harm has become a path to healing for myself and perhaps for others.
There is one more balm. When I dropped back into a different medical class, I met my husband of over fifty years. He has been a companion par excellence and I am awed to realize that we never would have known each other except for the accident that crushed my feet and ankles. There would not be three adult children and their spouses and six grandchildren who every day remind us of God’s goodness even in difficult times.
Every day my painful, battle-scarred feet remind me of Easter breaking out of Good Friday.
Joanna Seibert,“Feet,” Christian Century, February 26, 2020.
Joanna joannaseibert.com
Help us to find resurrection out of this pandemic.