Why God gave me boots

From my earliest memories, I loved horses. That translated into liking all things cowboy. We didn’t have a television back then, but a friend did. I not only watched westerns, such as the Roy Rogers Show, but also studied them. I watched how the actors got on and off their horses. I watched how they used the reins to signal the horse. I wanted to know how to ride when I had a chance to ride other than the horses on the carnival merry-go-round.

 Once we moved to Wyoming, I got to ride the paint horse of our new friend who lived down the road. That was wonderful. I also loved visiting ranches with my pastor father, especially when he and mom went to assist in shearing sheep, branding or, in Mom’s case, killing and fixing chickens or helping to cook for and feed all those who came to help out.

 I wanted to be a cowgirl. I bought a cowboy hat to keep out the sun. More than anything, I wanted cowboy boots. I saved my Christmas and birthday money until I had enough. Dad went with me to the Golden Rule Store, later known as JCPenny’s, to purchase my first pair of boots, cowboy, not snow boots. I was so proud of those boots.

I wore them all the time. Eastern Wyoming was hot in the summer. You could cook eggs not only in the sunshine but also in the shade. Yet, I determinedly wore my hat and boots during the summer when my sister wore flip-flops.

 After I got sick and was consigned to a wheelchair, I wanted a pair of boots. Again, I saved up for them and got a pair made especially for me. They helped stabilize my ankles and when Dad put me on my saddle (in the house), the boots fit into the stirrups. We used the saddle to stretch out my legs.

Eventually, boots became too difficult to take on and off and I gravitated to a number of shoes, many ugly but solid, that were meant to encase my feet and stabilize me a bit when I tried to walk. But my legs had become permanently bent into a sitting position. It took months of reconstructive surgery after I graduated from college to get me up and walking again.

 After my husband and I married and raised our family, continued reconstructive surgery kept me upright and walking. With everything else, my love of boots faded into pictures and store displays while I wore more practical shoes I could get on myself.

 I ended up with mostly artificial parts including femur, knees, hips and collapsed ankles that were screwed together. Many boots now have long zippers, and it was time to start checking things out. I need shoes/boots with no heel. That isn’t easy to find. My feet are deep and wide. Most women’s shoes and boots are too narrow. Shoes are easier to find than wide/deep women’s boots.

Cassie found me a short boot to go with the outfit she picked out for a wedding in which we had a part. Years later, Cassie, took me shopping for boots for her wedding. They had a slight heel but were doable in short bursts of time.

 But I was once again hooked on having boots, especially as my ankles grew more painful. Wonder of wonders, I found boots to fit. They served almost like a brace, and I wore them constantly. Eventually, the pain in my left ankle drove me to a podiatrist and having my ankle shot up every year so I could walk with less pain.

 I can’t fit into cowboy boots, but I can find flat-soled boots with a long zipper. With my helper hooks, I can pull on the boots and take them off. I am thankful my love of boots has come full circle. We often are convinced God cares about the big stuff in our lives.

 Sometimes we miss His answers to our prayers because we aren’t looking for the small, everyday blessings in our lives. Truth is, He also cares about small stuff. It may seem silly to some, but when I look at my boots I know God cares and I am thankful.

 © 2025 Carolyn R Scheidies
Published column Kearney Hub 1/7/25

Permission to share