Learning to savor seems like such a food word. But what if it isn’t? What if it has to do with toes and learning to taste and see?
This post is part of the Five-Minute Friday quick write hosted by Kate Moutang. Join us each Thursday night on Twitter (#FMFParty) for fun and fellowship, then grab a pen and start writing when the prompt goes live!
Where Have My Toes Gone?
“Could you touch my toes for me?” I asked Pedro.
“Um, sure,” he said, “if you tell me why!”
“Because they’re still numb and it’s just weird to touch my own numb toes.”
“When did the doctor say your nerve block should wear off?” he wanted to know as he removed the covering on my cast and touched my toes with a questioning look.
“The anesthesiologist said 12-18 hours, but I read somewhere online it could be up to 48 hours.” I shook my head in answer to his silent question. “Nope. Don’t feel anything yet.”
I settled back in my recliner and pulled out an ice pack to wedge behind my knee. For good measure, I added another one to the front of my knee. The nurse assured me the cold would help, even if it seemed so far from the surgery site on my ankle.
Pedro headed off to work, and I contemplated my forced inactivity. I don’t do inactive well. Evidently, I don’t ask enough questions before surgery, either. The doctor made it sound like a simple surgery and I’d be up and running within a week.
Instead, he sent me home with instructions to keep my foot elevated at all times, to ice it every 40 minutes, and to keep weight off it until my post-op office visit. In ten long days. But the lack of feeling in my toes actually bugs me the most.
You don’t realize how much you love your toes until you can’t feel them. Tiny, insignificant seeming little appendages. But when you can’t feel when your crutch falls on them or whether or not they drag on the floor, it’s downright disconcerting.
I’m Learning to Savor My Toes to Taste and See That the Lord is Good
And so this morning I savor the toes on my left foot. I can feel those. So I cross them, fidget with them, and wiggle them with glee. I perceive their usefulness and the freedom of movement they have. To savor something, really savor it, we use more than one sense.
Maybe that’s why David urges us to “Taste and see that the Lord is good (Psalm 34:8).” He sets this sensory tidbit in between two promises: “The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear him, and delivers them (Psalm 34:7)” and “blessed is the one who takes refuge in him.”
But maybe we don’t spend enough time in the middle of those promises to savor them. Perhaps we need to savor the sensations so we can truly perceive God’s goodness, protection, and blessings.
Stop for a moment today to savor God’s goodness. Smell a flower (or the crisp falling snow). Take a deep breath and breathe in the goodness of God. Delight in a cheery birdsong, the giggle of a child, or the warm winds of spring. Listen to the rain fall, the voice of a loved one, or the stillness of the night.
God is near. He yearns to share your delight in his creation—from toes to the wonders of the Northern Lights.