I Remember Barefoot Summers

article by PAUL LIPE
opinion expressed is that of the writer

I REMEMBER as I take refuge from the summer’s oppressive heat by sitting in my recliner and turning down the thermostat, that when I was a youngster, one way we battled the heat was to go barefoot. Once school was out for the year, shoes were a necessity only for special occasions like going to church or to a movie. I did not like wearing shoes and was glad to “closet” mine early each summer. And I never missed my shoes – with one notable exception.

I was a brother to two older sisters and a younger one. As you might suppose, I could be something of a pest to those siblings older that me. On one occasion, I did something to annoy one of my older sisters with no concern that she could catch me and institute some form of punishment. You see, I was a sprinter and the girls were more distant runners. So I took off, headed for the back door with my nemeses in pursuit; pushing the door open, I dashed across the back porch and jumped into the yard and freedom. Then the chase came to an abrupt end as my right foot landed on a broken bottle and suffered a deep cut. So much for the advantages and joys of bare feet in the summertime. One irony of this story is that, earlier in the day, my pursuer had broken the bottle and had neglected to pick up the broken pieces.

It was soon obvious to my mother that the foot needed medical attention, so we piled into the car and dashed off to the doctor’s office. I do not know where this particular physician took his training, but I think he missed the classes on bedside manner. As he stitched up my wound, he payed no attention to my screams for mercy. It was late in the day, so perhaps he was saving his pain killers for the patients he would “treat” on the morrow. He just told my mother to hold me still while he exercised his tools of torture.

Despite the absence of any compassion on the part of the doctor, the wound healed to the point that no one seemed to notice any negative, lasting effect. I have been able to participate in sports and have enjoyed reasonably good health throughout my long life. Nevertheless, I’m sure that my record in my tennis matches would have been stronger but for that unfortunate wound! And I suspect that my congregation appreciates the fact that, in order not to cause any recurrence of “foot damage,” I have taken the precaution of limiting the length of my sermons so as not to stand on the aforementioned foot for any great length of time. No one ever complained that my sermons were too short!

Isaiah has something encouraging to say about our feet: “How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news.” (Is. 52:7). Let us take every opportunity to share the good news that Jesus suffered physical pain, including the nails that were driven through His feet to fasten Him to the cross, to purchase salvation for all who believe this good news. Wherever our feet may take us, be messengers for Christ!