My eyes caught a glimpse of him. The salt and pepper scraggles poking out of his beard drew my attention. I motioned toward my husband with my eyes and head. We surveyed the weather worn straw hat, saw the heavy glasses held together with duct tape and caught a glance of the shirt that he had tucked carefully into his dirt packed jeans held up by a worn-out leather belt. And then we cringed. His shoes were nothing but the remnants of some old work boots literally wrapped with tape. No soles, toes poking through, but meticulously laced with a portion of shoestring. My breath left me when I watched him walk out of the store leaning on a cane as his feet literally turned onto his ankles. He was walking on his ankles as though they were the bottoms of his feet. And he hobbled out as though it was normal. We followed him knowing our path had to meet his.

He had been in the store on a desperate hunt for new shoes, but his search was complicated by his shoe size, 15EEE. I was determined to locate a pair of shoes for this soul. I was confident that God would provide them. I knew our meeting was arranged by Him. There was a pair of size 15EEE in this town and they were ordained for this time. I stepped away and frantically began calling each and every shoe store that Google could find. Nothing. Nothing even close. How could that be? This man needed shoes and my God provides. God drew my eye and my heart toward this man. He put me there to help provide for this need. What do you mean there isn’t a size 15EEE in this town?
I gathered my emotions and walked back to where my husband was visiting with him. I shook my head when my husband looked at me. I couldn’t find any. The man was not surprised. He shared how a church had gifted him a size 16 but they didn’t fit. They hurt his feet. He was content to drag around his taped boots rather than have his feet hurt.

And then my spirit was rattled. I offered to pray over him not thinking there was anything else we could do. Our new friend, Jerry, said he believed God would heal him. Pray for that. Ouch! While I had been diligently searching for what I saw as Jerry’s greatest need, I should have looked with my spiritual eyes. His greatest need was simply to be healed. He knew it and he believed it would happen. Why had I not thought of that first?
There are those in this world who see things with those keen, spiritual goggles. They recognize the child not reading as needing security, not phonics. They see the mom yelling in the grocery store not as out of control but as exhausted and needing 5 minutes peace.

The greatest need of any individual at any given time is probably not what we see on the outside. The layers of what is visible only hide the sores, the wounds, or maybe cover the hopes and beliefs that keep getting buried under the distractions so prominent to our physical eyes. In Jerry’s case, beyond-repair boots versus his desire to be healed. I only saw the boots.

I am guilty of being a “fixer” and I find myself trying to fix what isn’t necessarily the biggest (or real?) need. Why is this? Why can’t we all see straight to the hidden, straight to the tender places in the soul, instead of trying to guess based on our own observation? Why can’t we carry our pair of spiritual goggles tucked discreetly in our belt ready to whip out at a moment’s notice? Well, how often do we even take time to look? How often do we take time to listen? My tendency to “fix” has to yield to asking the Holy Spirit for his revelation and allowing him to take the lead.

Jerry hobbled on his way that day. I almost couldn’t bear to watch him as he struggled down the sidewalk. I secretly hoped that he was actually an angel in disguise and that God just needed to teach me a lesson. I didn’t want to believe I couldn’t help him in some way or that he left our meeting without a visible healing. I don’t know where he slept that night or if he ever found any boots to fit him. I don’t know if his feet were ever miraculously turned to the correct position or if he still hobbles on his ankles. I only know and have confidence in the fact that our God is a healer of both the visible and the carefully-hidden wounds. I know that when the Healer hands me my own spiritual goggles, I only have to do what He tells me. I don’t have to try and fix anything on my own. I just have to listen and obey. The healing isn’t my assignment. Being available is. Thank you, Jerry, for reminding me of this.