Shoes

When I was a kid, maybe 11 or 12 years old, I went to a shoe store. I found some platform shoes that were truly amazing. Inspiring even. I’m not sure why I liked them so much. Maybe because they were so different. I wanted to be different. Some of my favorite rock stars wore platform shoes, so I thought they were cool, and this pair was especially cool. Elton John would have been jealous. Jet black with multi-colored patchwork swatches on the top, very tall, slip on patent leather, platform shoes. It was love at first sight.

I bought them. It took my last dime. I carried them over the threshold of our modest suburban home like a new bride. I gazed at them with reverence and awe. I dreamed satisfied dreams. I imagined a big life with those shoes. They were wonderful to behold. Yea, verily.

So, next day, I don the shoes and head out into the neighborhood. I’m feeling it. I’m feeling good. I’m in the zone. Walking tall. It’s hard to look away from those shoes, so comfortable, so right. They gleam with an almost angelic glow. Resplendent. All was right with the world. But the first kid in the neighborhood who sees me says, “Where’s the flood?”

See, the tall heel on the shoes made the pants look short. The pants may have been short, anyway, which was fine with me because I could see the shoes better. But it wasn’t about the pants. He was cutting me over the shoes. They were too different. They were too . . . whatever.

I keep walking.

Another kid says “Where’s the flood.” Then another. Another kid makes a racist comment about who I may have stolen the shoes from. It went on and on. Merciless. They just didn’t get the splendor. I was violating some unwritten code that I was personally unaware of. I was breaking the rules. Who makes these rules anyway? My glory became the joke of the day. So shoot me.

I went home and took the shoes off. Put them in the box. Stuck them in the closet. I abandoned them. I never wore them again.

Who knows where they are now. Perhaps an angel is wearing them in heaven. Or Elvis.


Man. I loved those shoes.



Mark 7:7, Colossians 2:20-3:4, Mark 8:38
Peace to you.

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