The day before Easter of this year, I broke my fourth toe. Not only did I break my fourth toe, but I had to do a liturgical dance that I had choreographed for a small group of fantastic women who were heavily relying on me, all of which had never danced before. We practiced every day, for many hours, for eight days. So basically, my job was to get these women to learn a moderately difficult dance, which of whom had never done so, in a little shy over a week. Even though they learned/memorized each step, motion and movement, they needed me slightly going forward, so if by chance they were to forget a step, eyeing me could help them out. So I’m sure you’d understand why they were a little more than freaking out when I came limping into practice a day before the dance with a black, medical post-op shoe on my left foot.
magnificent, with the glory of God permeating the atmosphere. Had not our pastor announced my situation immediately after, no one in the congregation would have had any knowledge of my broken toe! I went to see my orthopedic doctor two weeks later, and he gleefully expressed how straight and well my toe was healing.