Accidentally starting off on the right foot

According to the X-rays, no bones were broken in the making of this post

All she wanted was a hug. But I should have known better.

I was standing on the corner—not in Winslow, Arizona—at a main intersection in downtown Missoula, Montana. Although I was only a spectator, not out in the streets with the colorful marchers, the small cardboard sign in my hands was attracting quite a bit of attention.

This is the sign I made.

As the parade made its way down Higgins Avenue, person after person narrowed their gaze to read the sign, then looked up into my eyes and smiled. Some raised a hand to their heart, their faces melting. Many broke formation and walked or even ran toward me. I met them partway, arms open wide for an embrace.

One young man, after giving me a fierce hug, held me by the shoulders and looked straight into my eyes, a momentary pause in the midst of the noisy din. “Thanks, Mom. I love you,” he said with an earnestness that broke me. I assured him I loved him, too, then he nodded and turned to rejoin his friends.

A young woman crossed from the other side of the street and wrapped her slender arms around me like she was desperate. When she pulled away, tears dripped onto her cheeks. “I lost my mom four years ago,” she blubbered. “I miss her so much. Thank you. This meant the world to me.” I pulled her back in for another embrace before she ran back to her place with the marchers.

So many hugs.

So many thank-yous and smiles and bursts of joyful laughter.

I was having a wonderful time offering what I had—a heartful of love and open arms—to everyone who looked my way.

But then a woman on a float caught my attention. Her eyes, focused intently on me, were needy. Her mouth was contorted with barely contained emotion. She reached her arms toward me and joined them in a circle—that faux hug one offers when the distance is insurmountable. I returned the gesture from my post along the side of the parade route, adding a fake pat on her back by tapping my own elbow. We grinned at each other, the only two people in the enormous crowd surrounding us.

But then the float on which she rode stopped. There was a hold-up ahead, so all motion came to a halt. The music continued and the marchers between floats milled about in place. She and I looked at each other and hatched a plan using only eye contact and gestures.

I ran out into the street, weaving between marchers with flags and banners, marchers on roller skates, and marchers walking colorfully festooned dogs.

She leaned over the side of her float and reached down to me. I stepped in closer and reached up to her.

I should have known better

We were still locked in a hearty embrace when I felt the wheel of the flatbed trailer roll onto the inside edge of my right tennis shoe, locking it in place.

Denial. No. No way. This can’t be happening. The trailer moved ahead slowly, as parade floats do, giving me plenty of time to realize that—sure enough—I was pinned there between the wheel and the pavement.

Shock. How could I have been so careless as to place my foot in front of the wheel?

Acceptance. Foolish or not, the deed was done. I couldn’t pull away. Trying to pull, in fact, might cause further injury. There was nothing I could do but wait for it to be over. I’m quite certain the woman who’d asked for the hug didn’t even realize what was happening below.

Alarm. We finished our hug as the tire balanced briefly on the top of my foot, then rolled down and off the other side. I remember being astounded that my foot had borne that kind of weight, but I had no idea yet what the damage was.

Surprise. On my initial assessment, I definitely felt pain, but it was only nominal pain, much less than I expected. I looked up at the young woman, smiled my best at her, then turned away. I pulled my cardboard sign up over my mouth to hide whatever uncontrollable expressions might cross my face when I tried to walk. Then I hop-limp-hopped quickly back to my place.

“That float just rolled over my foot.” I tried not to sound panicked to my family members, but I’m guessing I was unsuccessful.

“Over your toes, or . . .”

“Over my whole foot! Up and over!” I fought to keep my breathing under control.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins. The raucous sounds of the parade went on like nothing had happened. I tried putting some weight on it, gingerly. It held. I wiggled my toes, then took a couple of tentative steps. Although it smarted, the foot seemed to still function. It would likely turn pretty colors, but it would be ok. The mind-boggling memory of my foot being crushed, slowly, flashed through my brain again and again, like that section of the newsreel was stuck on repeat.

Determination. I held up my sign again and smiled at everyone who looked my way, resolved to maintain my composure and continue my quest to shower mom love on whoever needed it. That was the whole reason I’d come.

Half an hour later, the parade was over. We flowed with the masses toward the street party to follow. Almost immediately, my foot began to hurt somewhere deep inside. We gave a few more hugs and bought ice cream from a food truck. Although Big Dipper’s Espresso Heath is usually good for whatever ails me, this time it was not a miracle cure. The pain felt odd—not normal. I knew something was wrong. It must have been a combination of shock and adrenaline that kept the pain away initially. Yes, I’ve heard of that. It’s common, right?

Panic. Standing and walking were not only painful, I realized, but could be doing more damage to an already injured foot. I needed to get off my feet ASAP and told Andy as much. We said our goodbyes and headed out, with several blocks of crowds and closed streets between us and our car.

The next morning, with my foot a little swollen and turning all sorts of rainbow colors, I went to the local urgent care. They couldn’t find any fractures, but there is significant soft tissue and ligament damage, so I need to baby it for a few weeks. I was given a fancy shoe to wear and told to elevate it as much as possible.

My stylish new footwear.

Sigh.

That, combined with several other factors, means we (or at least I) need to slow down our frenzied pace. We will not be going to the big Overland Expo PNW to showcase the vehicle at the end of the month, as planned. We are in limp mode¹.

I really didn’t want my injury to hamper our ability to showcase our rig at the Expo. But the camel’s back was already overloaded; his knees were already wobbling. This was simply the last straw. Poor camel.

I also didn’t want my injury to detract from our time at the parade. Fortunately, it didn’t. We still gave all the smiles and hugs we’d set out to give. We went to the parade to show love—in a way that feels like love—to people who need it. We went there because we thought that’s where Jesus might have gone if he were physically in Missoula, Montana, on the third Saturday of June, 2024. We went because loving God looks a lot like loving people².

Andy and me in downtown Missoula. A marcher in the parade took this photo and sent it to Andy but didn’t give us her name.

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An invitation to the banquet

Jesus once told a story about a generous man who prepared a huge banquet to share with his friends and neighbors³. On the day of the feast, many of the invited guests began to cancel. One was busy with a real estate deal that had just closed. Another had recently added some new labor-saving innovation to the family business and was anxious to try it out. Another was recently married and didn’t want to take on any unnecessary social commitments. The guests continued to drop.

The host was frustrated, of course. With the sudden lack of guests, he sent his servant downtown to the streets and back alleys to invite people outside his circle of friends: “the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.” These were not the people who got invited to lavish banquets at elegant homes in the “good” parts of town. These were folks on the fringe who must have wondered if the whole thing was a hoax. They didn’t have the appropriate attire or personal grooming for an occasion like this. But, on the other hand, they also didn’t have busy schedules full of the conflicts that come with wealth and privilege. They accepted the invitation and showed up at the party.

Upon seeing there were still more empty seats at the banquet (this must have been quite the gala), the host sent out the servant again. This time he told him to range further out into the margins of society, way outside of town to where the hillbillies and hicks and yokels—and likely the ceremonially unclean—lived. They came, too.

This must have been quite the gala indeed. Can you picture it? I’ve enjoyed trying. Although it was not the event the host had originally envisioned, the story implies he was quite satisfied with the result.

Going to the overlooked and marginalized outcasts of society and offering them a position of dignity—a seat at the lavish banquet table—seemed to be Jesus’ specialty.

And we want to live like Jesus.

Lacking the means to throw a swanky banquet, we can at least go to a parade and give eye contact and hugs. Our goal was to communicate love and dignity, and for the dozens of people we hugged, I hope we accomplished that.

Photo credit: Ariyana Pilskalns

As we travel the world, the posts you read here will cover wildly different scenes and settings, but dignity, always dignity, is the goal. We are all made by the same Creator and invited to sit at the same table. Some choose to attend, and some have their reasons to decline, but all are invited.

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7 Questions

Each week from here on out, I’ll share with you an interview of someone I’ve encountered along my path. Each person will be asked the same seven questions, and I’ll post their answers for you to enjoy and ponder.

This week I interviewed my friend Robbie Springs, who I originally met when she lived here in Montana. We reconnected a few months ago in Australia. Robbie and her husband, Gene, have lived for many years on a sailboat, wandering the globe. Ready for a change of pace, they recently sold the boat and settled in a small town on one of the islands of Fiji.

Where were you born and where do you live now?

• San Francisco, California and Savusavu, Vanua Levu, Fiji

Of all the names and titles you have answered to over the years, do you have any favorites, and why?

• ‘BG’ aka Birth Giver. My daughter Alison coined that for me when she was in high school. Yes, I am the Giver, and it’s also a very non-gendered phrase, which suits me well.

Can you tell me about one person who has had a significant positive impact on your life?

• My friend for many years, Eleanor. She has become my role model for being a wise, powerful, older person—as I lost my own mother at 63. At 80, she plans to live to 100.

What feels most like home to you and why?

• Being outdoors, observing all the colors, sounds, textures, temperature and the secret life—feeling the energy of all things, and how you are also a part that energy. And beauty!

What is one thing that makes you ridiculously happy?

• Eating good sushi!

What is one thing that makes you terribly sad?

• Hard one, but loss and betrayal. In those thankfully few times in my life, the absolute ripping out of my heart—dramatic, yes—but a true sensation. I still feel my heart pain when I think of those times.

What is one important thing you have learned over your lifetime?

• There is no perfect place; I have looked at length. If you can get close to a perfect painting, or home, or partner; embrace your success. One caveat, I do believe there are perfect moments. I have experienced quite a few—always unexpected, and always when I am most present.

Finally, I asked Robbie to provide me a photo of her choice and she sent me this beauty:

That’s the Robbie Springs I know and love!

Vinaka⁴, Robbie, for sharing a bit about yourself with us. I look forward to hearing more of your adventures as you and Gene make Fiji your new home. Andy and I hope to visit someday.

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Thanks for reading. I hope the re-branding of this publication has started off on the right foot—going out to the highways and byways to love people and acknowledge their dignity. I just wish I hadn’t put my own right foot so close to the wheel of that parade float. Oh, well.

Until next week,

Sherry

1. “Limp mode” is a safety function of our big Mitsubishi Fuso adventure rig. When certain engine or transmission abnormalities occur, the vehicle goes into limp mode, which means the speed and RPMs are throttled significantly, protecting it from further damage until it can be serviced.

2. Loving our fellow humans is kind of a big deal to God. Romans 13:8 (NLT)

3. Jesus’ parable of the great banquet - Luke 14:15-24 (NLT)

4. Vinaka is Fijian for thank you.