At the women’s missionary rummage sale, I bought a pair of used shoes. They were navy pumps—low heels, stylish, and almost like new—so I gladly invested three dollars.

As I was choosing them, a deaconess who had been watching me smiled and said, “Pastor’s wife! You picked a good one. Actually, those were mine. I only wore them once. A relative gave them to me during my trip to Korea last year, but my toes hurt so much I couldn’t wear them.” She encouraged me as if I had made a very wise choice.

After many years in the parsonage, I’ve grown used to wearing whatever clothes or shoes come my way rather than buying things that fit perfectly. If shoes were too big, I stuffed cotton in the toes; if they were too small, I squeezed my feet in anyway. If clothes were too big, I altered them; if too small, I stretched them. And people still complimented me as a “pastor’s wife with good fashion sense,” which I suppose was something to be grateful for.

But these shoes defied all my usual tricks. Day by day, they pressed harder on my left little toe, showing no sign of mercy. At church, whenever someone noticed the navy shoes and said, “They look great on you!” the pain would disappear for a moment. But as soon as no one was watching, I limped, unable to walk straight. Eventually, I decided to give up on them—because even when I wore other shoes, my toe still hurt.

So, for the first time in my life, I went to a foot specialist. The Jewish doctor, who looked to be nearly seventy, welcomed me, saying, “Foot problems are rare among Asians. Even Asian doctors don’t specialize in this field. You’re a rare patient!”

I poured out all my suffering—how painful it had been, how long I had endured it. The doctor smacked his lips as if unimpressed. Then, without a word, he took out a small knife and sliced off the corn on my little toe as casually as cutting a radish. I was so shocked by his abruptness that I nearly screamed. But amazingly, the toe that had been excruciating to touch just moments before suddenly felt no pain at all.

For one quick cut and a single bandage, I received a hundred‑dollar bill—but when I walked out of the office, my steps were light, and I even found myself whistling again.

In life, I often carry the same kind of “corn” in my soul—small pains that grow because I stubbornly force my life into shoes that don’t fit, relying on my own experience and common sense. Eventually, I lose my spiritual balance and stumble.

But how grateful I am that I can always go to the Lord, the Healer of all diseases. With one sharp ray of righteous healing, He cuts away the unnecessary burdens in my soul and makes me whole again. If He had not healed me, what would have become of my wounded heart? Yet He has tended my many hurts again and again—and never once handed me a bill.

I used to think I was strong, but the pain in that tiny toe showed me how fragile I really was—unable even to walk properly. Now, no matter how hard I press or pinch it, my little toe doesn’t flinch. Only now do I realize how much quiet peace that tiny part of my body had been giving me all along, hidden inside my shoe. And I am deeply grateful.

— Yoon Wan‑Hee, 10/22/1998