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 weekly indulgence of a hair appointment. It was an eventful day early in my obstetrical rotation. I deliver stillborn twins. I do not remember showing any pastoral care to that mother. I am just here 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 this specialty might be easier on my feet. Today, I still suffer from the injuries I endured in that crash more than fifty years later. Each step can sometimes be excruciating on my feet and ankles, even after multiple surgeries. I now walk with a quad cane and, more often, a walker.
Twenty-one years ago, I became involved in a new ministry and am now an ordained deacon in the Episcopal Church. Today, I work with people in various types of recovery. I am also trained as a spiritual director, since this can also be a “sitting down and listening ministry.”
Although I have retired from my medical practice, working in hospitals has taught me to be comfortable around the sick. I have also been trained as a pastoral care chaplain in the Community of Hope, and every week before the pandemic, I would visit or call those in the hospital and homebound.
When I experience pain in my feet, especially on these visits, I remind myself about a balm as I walk down long hospital corridors. The ministries I have loved, which have brought joy to my life: my career in pediatric radiology, working in recovery, becoming a spiritual director, and being a pastoral caregiver—all have opened up to me as a direct result of my broken feet.
All my ministries developed from a response to injuries 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 would never 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 remind us of God’s goodness every day, 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 https://www.joannaseibert.com/
May we help each other find resurrection out of all of life’s tragedies, especially the pandemic and the war in Ukraine.