This little piggy belongs to 7 of 8.
Callous, split skin and all.
It’s the price she’s paying for learning to walk. Her little left foot flattens at an odd angle, trying to grip the ground for better stability to make up for the weakness on that side.
And so her little piggy has borne the brunt, developing blisters, creating callouses, splitting open.
It’s odd how well we took the news of her stroke, how well we have weathered the testing, the doctor and specialist visits, the months of therapy. We’ve been strong. She has hung tough.
But there’s just something about this little piggy.
I want it to be soft and pink. I want to heal its hurt.
I don’t want things to be so hard for her. Or for her toe.
But it’s the price we all pay, really, when we have to tackle hard things. It’s the price we pay when we work hard to overcome weaknesses, to push ourselves, to push ourselves up to the unsteady feet of our dreams and visions and to press ahead.
We sometimes rub blisters on our hearts. Our souls can become a bit calloused. And sometimes we feel as if we are being split open in the effort.
But we pay the price. We get tougher.
And we walk out our journeys.
And 7 of 8 will too.
But, oh, I ache for this little piggy.