Back in the early 1980s a friend at church taught all the women about something new to us at that time — Foot Reflexology.

Always the skeptic, I watched her presentation with feigned interest. That is until she directly asked if I had any physical ailments she could help me with.

Of course, there was the never-ending low back pain but my sinuses were killing me. Casually mentioning both maladies, she approached my seat and asked me to remove my right shoe. Always the obedient child, my foot ended up in her lap where she began pressing with her thumb all along the inside edge of the sole.

It was actually enjoyable for a bit until she hit “the spot!” Oh-My-Word! Squirming in my chair, it nearly took my breath away! Craning my neck to see what horrible weapon she had in her hand; I did a double-take — it was merely the pad of her thumb.

She calmly cooed that within thirty seconds my back pain would let up. More concerned at the moment over my foot pain, she proved to be absolutely right.

With amazement, I began to relax a bit as she moved around my foot asking me details about various organs and conditions.

My back felt so much better that my sinus issue was temporarily forgotten — but oh, yeah, she remembered.

She moved her emphasis to my big toe and eventually the other four. Suddenly my right nostril began dripping, literally. The pressure in the side of my head really eased up.

Dabbing tissues to catch the stream of proboscis mucus, she moved to my other foot. First the back, but it wasn’t nearly as bad this time, though the pain subsided on that side as well.

Next, she moved to my big toe, followed by its nearby neighbors. Suddenly — or so it seemed — both nostrils were dripping. I could actually inhale!

Armed with charts and instructions as well as my newfound appreciation, I was homeward bound with thoughts of my husband who could really benefit from my initial knowledge and skill.

Excited to practice on someone other than myself, he readily agreed. Who in their right mind would turn down an offer for a nice foot rub?

Beginning gently, gradually and then bingo! When I hit the spot, he nearly leapt out of the chair and yelped like a toddler at their first dental appointment!

He actually startled me. “What in the world did you poke me with?” he demanded.

I held up and rotated my bare hand.

“Well, you’re not touching me again until you cut those fingernails!” he continued to yelp.

Unable to contain my laughter, I responded, “I’m just using the knuckle of my forefinger.”

“I don’t believe that! You poked me with something really sharp!”

Trying to explain the procedure, he finally agreed to let me continue, though his eagle eyes never moved from my hand. Gently kneading his foot, I convinced him to watch and that the pressure would gradually increase.

Even watching, and almost relaxing once again, he winced and carried on and yes, it brought tears to his eyes.

This is the man who knew no bounds for the endurance of pain. He never complained of pain more than casually during the 57 years we were married.

Amazingly, he had to admit that his back hadn’t felt that good in a very long time — “even better than the last chiropractor visit,” he beamed.

Cautiously thereafter, he did coax me into giving him more magic foot rubs as he dubbed them. He even talked our son, my brother, Dad, and a few of his friends into it. Let me tell you right now. Every single one of them cried — at least until after the area in question had been massaged for thirty to sixty seconds.

My hands, thank you very much Mr. Arthur Itis, couldn’t do it very well for very long, but it was discovered that a good old eraser on a Number 2 pencil worked fantastically. Plus, it made it easier for me to work on my own feet.

Years later, one Sunday in another location, as I slipped into the restroom at church, a friend was sitting there looking absolutely awful. She explained that she had a killer migraine. Wanting to help rather than hurt, reflexology was quickly introduced to her.

Every bit as skeptical as my first encounter, she hopelessly agreed, “Why not? Nothing else has helped.”

Within a few minutes, she rejoined her family on the front pew giving me a smile and a wink as she entered the sanctuary.

She did wince a little at my maneuvers, but I promise you, she did not shed a single tear — but big boys do cry.