Chapter 8: The One True Cathedral

I meet two angels, wake in the night to wrestle with Lilliputians, and find myself singing gospel and speaking in tongues. Oh, and almost forgot: boot problems.

That afternoon my pilgrim hosts had offered me a drink when I arrived, and they sat me in their largest sofa chair. There was a brief conversational vacuum for a moment or two. All I could think about was my blister. I was incapable of moving the conversation in any direction without stopping to remove a mental sock and staring at the thing.

But then I couldn’t help myself. I mentioned my blister out loud, and it was like a factory bell rang. The two of them went into action. The woman had me remove my boot so she could take a look. He raised his eyebrows and whistled. She blew out softly through puffed cheeks and said that’s a beauty.

They set to debating what to do and who would do what. She went off and retrieved a sewing kit. He filled a calf-deep plastic tub with hot water and sprinkled it with a marvelous purpling cloud of iodine. She set my foot up on a small stool, holding it gently for a moment. Being cared for like that opened a surrender in me. He sterilized a needle. She pi…