“Do You Want to be Healed?” : 5 Reasons I Miss My Boot
You’d think after seven months of crutching in a cast and hobbling in a boot I’d be jubilant at the thought of walking in shoes.
But I’m not.
Why am I reluctant to ditch my big, gray boot?
Although it was awkward to walk in a boot, there were definite upsides.
4 Boot Benefits
- The boot was a natural conversation starter, kind of like a cute baby. A CAM boot breaks the ice. All I had to do was hobble into a place and people would ask,
“What’d you do?” and “Is it painful?” Or, “How long till you get out of the boot?”
I enjoyed talking about my injury, and—truth be told—I enjoyed placing myself among elite athletes who’d experienced the same.
- The boot was a “platform” from which to showcase the joy of the Lord. After all, “Sour godliness is the devil’s religion.” That’s why I reveled in this compliment from another mom in the parking lot as I limped toward the school,
“I know how much you love being active. You shine for Jesus when you go smiling in that boot.”
Admittedly, she caught me in a temporary glow. But I aim to showcase the power of God as I count it all joy. The boot was a spotlight.
- Then there’s the sympathy. I can’t deny that I relish a little TLC. While sympathy can sap us, Traci and Renee’s sympathetic notes meant the world in my early days.
“Go slow to go fast,” and “Inch by inch, life’s a cinch,” from firsthand experience they wrote.
- The boot made me feel, if not invincible, at least safe. Even though it was clunky, my tendon was protected in the boot. When my surgeon’s physical therapy order came last week, it ended with these five words,
“Avoid re-rupture at all costs.” The boot made that easier.
Those, then, are four perfectly reasonable reasons I was in no hurry to ditch the boot.
But there is one more reason. I had to dig deeper to see it.
The Lord Knows
My faith is too small. That’s the reason.
I don’t trust that the LORD knowing the whole story behind my strange gait is enough. Even though the LORD “knows the way of the righteous” (Psalm 1:6a), and knows me inside and out (Psalm 139:1). Knowing that God knows should be enough.
What does it matter if strangers see me as a lady who walks funny? If I hobble like an fragile aged lady, then what?
Only that Christ will be exalted in my body. And that another layer of my judgy pride is peeled away. Only that I can grow closer to my God, and share in the fellowship of his suffering—including being misunderstood.
Only those.
Identity
But honestly, my injury has infused my identity: the once-active-woman who can hardly walk.
But I don’t want to be defined by my loss.
Do you know people who are? At some point, grief and loss became their identity. It’s the primary context in which they relate to others. They seem as if there’s no desire to be defined by anything but what they’ve lost.
Nancy Guthrie could have gone that direction, having lost two of her three children. But she writes, “There is only one thing we want to be defined by, and it is not our grief. We want to be defined by Christ alone—not by the losses in our lives.”
Which means we must learn to live with hidden wounds.
Invisible Wounds
When my boot came off, my ankle wasn’t instantly restored. I could walk, but slowly and with a limp. Sneakers obscured my injury. I was no longer an injured woman. Without the boot, I was just a lady with a weird walk.
My case is mild. A stranger watching me limp into the grocery store might just think I’m a little stiff—if they even notice at all.
But the effects of some invisible wounds are viewed far more severely.
Mrs. C’s Invisible Wounds
Mrs. C taught at my son’s school and underwent emergency brain surgery last year. I visited with her over brisket and beans at a graduation party.
“Is there any lasting impact from the surgery?” I wondered.
Her eyes doubled in size.
“Oh, do I!” she replied, nodding and whistling as she slowly exhaled.
“I was at the zoo with my kids the other week. We were leaving the bat house, and I was weaving slightly as we walked out—my vestibular system is still affected by the tumor and the surgery. I heard a man behind me pronounce,
‘This woman does not know how to drink responsibly.’
“It was loud enough that my kids heard. I was so angry and so hurt. But I didn’t say a thing.”
That is a hidden wound. Mrs. C shares in the fellowship of being misunderstood. She went on to explain how she had much of one inner ear removed and could no longer hear in that ear. She cannot localize sound, so when people talk in a crowd or when an alarm goes off at home, she does not know where to look. Bright lights and crowd noise are exhausting.
But looking at Mrs. C, you would never know that she’s had multiple brain surgeries. It’s hidden—an invisible wound.
More Invisible Wounds
My husband was beside me at the table. His wound is invisible too. Last winter, Jim was Flighted for Life. He looks normal, but he’s not the same. There is a certain sobriety attached to knowing that God is using two pills a day to preserve your life.
Mr. and Mrs. H sat across the table from Mrs. C. Three years ago, they had a baby boy, named John Henry. But John Henry was born four months early and didn’t survive outside of his mama. They don’t wear his loss on their sleeves. But I don’t doubt there are many days they still grieve.
Everyone at the table wore hidden wounds. I suspect everyone at every table does.
To each, our Resurrected Lord might ask the same question he asked the paralyzed man.
“Do you want to be healed?”
It is as if one particular man, laying beside the Sheep Gate pool was on his mind when Jesus went up to Jerusalem. It is if he knew the man’s history—that he had been lame for 38 years. We read about it in John 5. Unasked, he mercifully addressed this man.
When Jesus saw him lying there and knew that he had already been there a long time, he said to him, “Do you want to be healed?”
It seems like a no-brainer. I mean, who wouldn’t want to be healed?
The English word “want” might not give the full force of the Greek. It means, “Do you have the desire, the will, to be made whole?”
My Lord might ask me, “Are you ready to ditch that boot? “
The Price for Health
Because there is a price for health. If this man got healed, he’d be on his own. He’d have to find a new place to stay and a job. He’d have no excuse for lying beside the pool. He wouldn’t receive sympathy. It’s as if, in that one short question, Jesus is putting it all on the table.
“Do you want to be healed?”
The lame man didn’t give a resounding “yes.”
“Sir, I have no one to put me into the pool when the water is stirred up, and while I am going another steps down before me.”
And I had five reasons I didn’t want to ditch my boot.
But our Lord is merciful.
Jesus said to him, “Get up, take up your bed, and walk.”
He did. The lame man walked.
And I can, too.
As much as I miss telling my injury story to everyone I meet, and as awkward as my walk is, brokenness is not the goal. But it is one way we can get to know the one who forgives our sins and heals our diseases. For the record, to know him is the goal (Phil 3:10).
Rest assured, the Lord knows our troubles. Without hearing his story, Jesus knew the man had been long afflicted. He knows what’s behind your limp. He knows your hidden wounds.
And He asks, “Do you want to be whole?”
Bless the Lord, O my soul,
and forget not all his benefits,
who forgives all your iniquity,
who heals all your diseases,
who redeems your life from the pit,
who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy…
—Psalm 103:2-4 (ESV)
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