Let's talk feet. Yes, I know I said already that shoes are important. Good shoes equal longer, easier walking. On the Way, however, I'm convinced even the best shoes in the world can't protect my feet from some sort of annoyance at the very least. As I sit in the sun today, knowing rain is the impending forecast, and perhaps the classroom will hold me hostage through any breaks in the clouds this coming week, I take study of my feet. I'm not a fan of the foot, really. Very utilitarian, very uncivil the foot seems to me; nevertheless, on this day as I bask in the warm rays, my feet take on a look of innocent, tender beauty, blissfully unaware that in less than three months they will be transformed into knobby, swollen, sweaty beasts of burden. On the other hand (sorry, that phrase just fell into place), perhaps they are not so innocent, instead sensing impending days of toil and pain. My fear is they know what is coming and are ready for me, ready to wield supreme power over the rest of my body, especially my mind. "Okay, Linda, how about we just go ahead and give in to that rogue sock seam that has worked its way onto Mr. Big Toe?" Or, "Too bad you can't make it another mile to the nicer albergue up the road, but we say you will stop this incessant walking NOW." I already know this too: I will bow down to them, cry mercy to them, let them rule over me. Quickly. Oh I talk tough, but I like to cut my losses early on, as it usually goes better for everyone that way. Maybe if I let my feet know in advance they hold all the cards, we can be friends?
What happens when feet go bad on the Camino? The pilgrim must obviously try to avoid this situation in the first place. Slather them every night with whatever the last guy said worked for him, and during the day rest them, elevate them, air them...and then change socks. Repeat as necessary. If things go south, tape hot spots, bandage blisters, and when evening comes, find that same guy and see what his school of thought is on using a needle and thread for blisters. If he's for it, find a new "expert." If it really gets bad, forget supposedly learned pilgrims and find a kindhearted hospitalero, or as I like to refer to, a "trail angel." There are many almost too good to be true stories of these dear people who work magic on pilgrims' feet that are in the worst condition imaginable-all for only gratitude and a "thank you." What kind of person willingly works on sweaty feet? Feet with oozing blisters? Feet with toenails held on only by sweat? Who wakes up in the morning and says, "I think I'll take care of someone's sweaty, dusty feet today"?
There is a story related in the Bible about a certain Someone washing people's sweaty, dusty feet. It always makes me think of the word humility. Someone putting aside his own importance, free of pride and arrogance, strong enough to love others without regard for self. I don't want that from my Camino in three months or when I get back home; I want that now. The world needs that now. We all must work hard, strive daily for humility in this day and time, for the world tells us in every single way imaginable that we deserve to be first, have the best, and take care of only ourselves and our own. What if we begin to put ourselves second, and our fellow man first, taking care of his blisters, his worn and hurting feet? That possible scenario is quite a bit more than a buen Camino.
What happens when feet go bad on the Camino? The pilgrim must obviously try to avoid this situation in the first place. Slather them every night with whatever the last guy said worked for him, and during the day rest them, elevate them, air them...and then change socks. Repeat as necessary. If things go south, tape hot spots, bandage blisters, and when evening comes, find that same guy and see what his school of thought is on using a needle and thread for blisters. If he's for it, find a new "expert." If it really gets bad, forget supposedly learned pilgrims and find a kindhearted hospitalero, or as I like to refer to, a "trail angel." There are many almost too good to be true stories of these dear people who work magic on pilgrims' feet that are in the worst condition imaginable-all for only gratitude and a "thank you." What kind of person willingly works on sweaty feet? Feet with oozing blisters? Feet with toenails held on only by sweat? Who wakes up in the morning and says, "I think I'll take care of someone's sweaty, dusty feet today"?
There is a story related in the Bible about a certain Someone washing people's sweaty, dusty feet. It always makes me think of the word humility. Someone putting aside his own importance, free of pride and arrogance, strong enough to love others without regard for self. I don't want that from my Camino in three months or when I get back home; I want that now. The world needs that now. We all must work hard, strive daily for humility in this day and time, for the world tells us in every single way imaginable that we deserve to be first, have the best, and take care of only ourselves and our own. What if we begin to put ourselves second, and our fellow man first, taking care of his blisters, his worn and hurting feet? That possible scenario is quite a bit more than a buen Camino.