Shoe Shopping

The evening air was warm and rich with the scents of fresh-cut grass and evening meals, blossoms and earth.

Making my way down a residential street, I rounded the corner on one of our lilac-bordered main roads. A drama across the street caught my attention. A mother and her child were out for their evening stroll, the little boy trailing far behind his mom. The setting sun bathed their relaxed, coffee-brown faces in its end-of-the-day warmth, and they chattered to each other amiably as they made their way along the sidewalk.

At first glance, it was just a lovely evening picture. And then I looked at the child's feet and learned the reason for his slow progress: he was wearing a pair of men's shoes. Shoes that were many times too large for him. Big, black, cumbersome tennis shoes on tiny, little boy feet!

He clumped happily along, following his mother's urgings to, "Keep moving!", all the while working hard to keep his feet in those gigantic leather sneakers. He was a determined little guy and he continued along for a full city block before his mom changed direction and started leading them back the way they'd come.

As they moved their way back along the street, parallel to a long, weather worn fence bordering several back yards, a dog in one of the yards spotted them and began barking furiously. In its' attempts to protect territory, the dog lunged at the fence, growling and making an enormous racket.

The child froze mid-step, a man sized tennis shoe dangling from his wee foot, and screamed in fear. The shoes that had, to that point, made him feel grownup and man-like, had become like cement blocks on his little legs. They had him trapped and unable to run from the thing that was frightening him, to the the safety of his mother.

Mom, of course, scooting back to rescue her boy, scooped him -- shoes and all -- into her arms and carried him beyond the offending yard to quiet safety.

The image of the two of them brings different thoughts to mind (thoughts of a fun mum who allows her son the freedom to go for a hike in big shoes!), and it also poses some questions: whose shoes are we wearing? Are they shoes made for us, with a fit just right? Or are we stumbling along in shoes that are too big for us to fill (while we attempt/pretend to be someone we're not)? Maybe our shoes are too small, causing painful blisters and pinched toes (while, again, we attempt to hide what we really are).

Like that energetic and very patient mum, God will allow us to march about in all sorts of roles; He'll let us pursue ministries and programs and service of all sizes and shapes. But I wonder if His expectation, His hope, is that we'll just wear shoes that actually fit. That we'll take on the things He's designed us to take on.

God doesn't expect us to be anything other than what we are and what we are becoming: imperfect lovers of God becoming like Him. In time. That beautiful nut-brown boy did not become a man by putting on a man's shoes. In fact, when crisis came, the charade was quickly ended and rescue was necessary.

We do not become something grand or significant or worthwhile by adopting roles that we are not created to fill. And we do not honor God when we take on things too small, for fear of the larger calling.

So, it's time to go shoe shopping! We can strap on something that fits just right. It may take a bit of trial and error to find the perfect match, and time again to break the pair in, but the end result will be worth the effort: a niche in which to serve God and others with lightness and ease; a readiness to respond to His direction without being weighed-down or held back. Let the hunt begin!