A Pocket Knife, Some Betadine & a Minor Miracle
A Pocket Knife, Some Betadine & a Minor Miracle
by Roger Guffey | Wentzville, MO
In Burgos, Spain, I happened to walk by a sporting goods shop. I noticed a fellow sharpening a knife. In my broken Spanish, I asked if he could sharpen mine.
“Tres horas!,” he said. I handed him my small folding knife. Three hours later, after touring the cathedral, I picked up my knife. To test it, I carefully scraped it across some hairs on my arm. It shaved them all.
Two weeks later, I limped into Ponferrada. My heel felt like a rock was embedded in it. Each step was agonizing. I decided to rest up for a couple of days. After two nights, it still was not any better. I was beginning to question whether I would complete this pilgrimage.
That evening, I attended the Pilgrim’s Mass at the nearby church. Even with my sparse Spanish, I could sense the Holy Spirit speaking to me. At the end of the service, the priest called for the peregrinos to come forward. I made my way out of the pew to receive the special blessing bestowed on those making their way to the tomb of St. James.
The priest laid his hands on each of us and said a prayer. He then bid us to, “Go in peace.” Limping out of the church I knew what I had to do.
Back in my room, I wiped the knife and spread on my foot some of the betadine I had received in Viana from a Camino angel to treat some blisters. I sliced an X where my heel was hurting and squeezed. Blood and pus flowed from the wound. For at least a half hour, I would cut a little deeper and squeeze little more. When there was only blood and the pus stopped flowing, I compressed and cleaned my heel with the antiseptic. I wiped it off and bandaged myself up and went to bed.
The next morning, I gingerly placed my foot on the floor. The pain had subsided. I dressed and geared up. Although it still was sore, my heel felt much better. “I can walk on this,” I reassured myself.
Two kilometers down the trail, I realized that the pain was gone. It never came back.
