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To
Everything There is a Season: . A Time to Weep, A Time to
Laugh.
Ecclesiastes 3
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Shoe Touching My Own
My alarm went off -- it was
Sunday again; I was tired -- it was my one day to sleep in. But the
guilt I'd have felt the rest of the day would have been too much, so
I'd go.
I showered and shaved, adjusted suit and tie, got there and swung into
a pew just in time. Bowing my head in humble prayer before I closed my
eyes, I saw that the shoe of the man next to me was touching my own and
I sighed. With plenty of room on either side, I thought, "why do our
soles have to touch?" It bothered me so; he was glued to my shoe, but
it didn't seem to bother him much.
Then the prayer began: "Heavenly Father," someone said-- But I thought,
"Does this man with the shoes have no pride?" They were dusty, worn,
scratched end to end. What's worse, there were holes on the side!
"Thank You for blessings," the prayer went on. The shoe man said a
quiet "amen." I tried to focus on the prayer, But my thoughts were on
his shoes again. Aren't we supposed to look our best when walking
through that door? "Well, this certainly isn't it," I thought, Glancing
toward the floor.
Then the prayer ended and songs of praise began. The shoe man was loud,
sounding proud as he sang. He lifted the rafters; his hands raised
high; The Lord surely heard his voice from the sky.
Then the offering was passed; what I threw in was steep. The shoe man
reached into his pockets, so deep, and I tried to see what he pulled
out to put in. Then I heard a soft "clink," as when silver hits tin.
The sermon bored me to tears --and no lie-- It was the same for the
shoe man, for tears fell from his eyes. At the end of the service, as
is custom here, we must greet the visitors and show them good cheer.
But I was moved inside to want to meet this man.
So after the closing, I shook his hand. He was old, his skin dark, his
hair a mess. I thanked him for coming, for being our guest. He said,
"My name's Charlie, glad to meet you, my friend," And there were tears
in his eyes -but he had a wide grin. "Let me explain," he said, wiping
his eyes.
"I've been coming for months, and you're the first to say, "Hi." I know
I don't look like all the rest, but I always try to look my best. I
polish my shoes before my long walk, but by the time I get here they're
as dirty as chalk."
My heart fell to my knees, but I held back my tears, He continued, "And
I must apologize for sitting so near." "But I know when I get here, I
must look a sight. And I thought . . if I touched you, our souls might
unite."
I was silent for a moment knowing anything I said would pale in
comparison, so I spoke from my heart not my head. "Oh, you've touched
me," I said. "and taught me, in part, that the best of a man is what's
in his heart."
The rest, I thought, this man will never know. How thankful I am that
he touched my soul!
# # #
Return HOME from Shoe
Touching My Own
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