Today was the anniversary of my foot surgery. For those of you that don’t know, I have a Haglund’s Deformity on the back of both heels. Click the link to see a picture, let’s just say that mine is much worse than what you’ll see there, in fact my doctor claims it is “the most perfect Haglund’s Deformity” he’s ever seen and is apparently using my x-rays for training purposes. After about two years of severe pain we decided that something had to be done. A year ago I had surgery on the right heel; the doctor went in on the side, not having to cut through or detach any muscles or tendons, cut off the extra bone, shaved it smooth and stitched me up. It was a fairly simple surgery with no surprises and believe it or not I went home that day.

Two days later I was calling for a change in pain medication (hives aren’t fun) and while on hold turned on the light so that I could write down whatever the good doctor would have to say. As soon as the lights turned on I watched my mother’s eyes grow as big as saucers and I looked down at my foot to see that the entire back of the bandage was completely soaked in blood. Insert a long journey of complications and turmoil.

It’s been a long year. For months I wept in secret, battling through the complications and the persistent and raging pain, wondering if I’d made the wrong choice in having surgery and if my feet were ever going to stop hurting. And more than that, I felt I was fighting for my calling to the Nations. Through many tear, snot soak tissues I would whisper Isaiah 52.7

How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of the messenger who brings good news, the good news of peace and salvation, the news that the God of Israel reigns!

and would sob, “Oh God, give me beautiful feet!”

I hiked around Shiloh today with no pain in my feet. Had I been wearing tennis shoes the right heel would have been tender and the left heel would have throbbed by the time I left, but I wore flipflops, and had no pain.

Katrina and I are reading through The Singer in the evenings, and the chapter we ended with tonight is when He heals the crippled brown-eyed little girl.

The singer knelt beside her in the dust and touched her limpid hand and cried. He drew the cloth away that hid her legs. He reached his calloused hand and touched the small, misshapen foot. “I too was born with scarred feet. See mine!” He said, drawing back the hem of his own robe.

That when I remembered what today was. But my tears didn’t flow until He healed her;

And others came! Untouchables with bandages heard the healing song and came to health. The crippled and the blind, sick of soul, sick of heart, sick of hate, sick of mind. Everywhere the music went, full health came. And all the way, men everywhere were whispering that the long-awaited Troubadour had come.

Years ago on a walk in the middle of the night, while talking of the practicalities of revival a friend made a comment like “The power comes and healing’s will be so common place, we’ll get bored with it by the 5,000 one.” The most insatiable pain rose up in my chest and I found myself declaring, ” No one who is healed from a chronic pain issue will ever, EVER stop marveling at the power of God that stop’s it.” I’m pretty sure I had a migraine that night which increased my zeal…. regardless….

I still believe that power is for my life, that wholeness is my portion. And on this side of eternity,I will NEVER stop marveling at the power of God that set’s our bodies free. Thank You Jesus for this day without pain.


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