What Could Happen if you Risk Loving Someone Who Likes your Shoes
It was early afternoon in the unusually quiet cancer center. I was thumbing through a magazine in the waiting room while Dad was getting his blood drawn before his doctor's appointment. Gray clouds filtered light through glass-paned walls. It was cold out. I was wearing my wool-lined boots with the silver studs and the square heels. The only other person in the room commented on them, “I like your boots.”
“Thanks,” I smiled acknowledging her compliment. I’m never sure who’s up for chatting in the cancer center. I try to make eye contact with people as I practice one of my core values, to acknowledge others rather than treating them like they are invisible. The temptation is to keep my head down, to avoid seeing pain. After four and half years of going with Dad to his appointments, I’ve had a lot of practice at choosing to live my conviction or to turn away.
The stranger sitting across the room beat me to the punch that gray afternoon. We chatted about my boots before Daddy, his ar…
“Thanks,” I smiled acknowledging her compliment. I’m never sure who’s up for chatting in the cancer center. I try to make eye contact with people as I practice one of my core values, to acknowledge others rather than treating them like they are invisible. The temptation is to keep my head down, to avoid seeing pain. After four and half years of going with Dad to his appointments, I’ve had a lot of practice at choosing to live my conviction or to turn away.
The stranger sitting across the room beat me to the punch that gray afternoon. We chatted about my boots before Daddy, his ar…
