Into the Fire

She was no runway model. So it took her exactly two and a quarter hours of intermittent foot travel between her desk and her boss's office to topple off the three inch heel by twisting her ankle as she attempted to gracefully bend at the knees to pick up a dropped file, separating the pencil thin spike from the rest of its shoe. Crimson was not bright enough to describe her complexion as she landed hard on her bottom nearly creating an unintended slit up the side of her straight black skirt, one leg straight in front of her, the other one bent cockeyed at the knee and splayed beside her, the file's contents now spread across the thick grey carpet in front of her, the black spindle just out of reach to her right.

Father, thank you for who you are. I'm desperate for you. Everyday, always. Apart from you I can do nothing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.