They That Wait by Té V. Smith

High heels push you closer to God. Specifically, the white patent leather pumps embellished with rhinestones that danced in choir stands and freed themselves on the word of your testimony. You have only worn them four and a half times because the last angel who got that close started a coup d’etat above the earth. 

It was this collapse of faith-his lack of patience to be drawn nearer and his disconnection from the beauty of God’s creation that caused sin to paint him as a caricature of himself, evermore. 

It is this cautionary lesson of failing to wait on the Lord, that I use to comfort myself when you rebuke the medications prescribed by your doctors. 

You want to smell the sweetness of grace. That is what I say when you fight the nurses and rip the nasogastric tube out. All of this must be your way of worship, your way of staying connected with humanity, even if it is through afflictions that keep you in our conversations to God. You don’t heal yourself, even when your children cry over the phone, because it is inconsiderate to be that powerful. Your heels still rest under your bed. Not this one. God doesn’t talk to you here.

Té V. Smith is a Nigerian American writer living in New Orleans. He teaches History, Music Performance, and Creative Writing. Té V. Smith can be reached at You can also read about him at

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