Thoughts by Matt W
You can know a lot about a man’s life from the story his shoes tell. – Sir Edmund Hillary
Okay, fine. Maybe Hillary didn’t actually say or write that. But I just did.
Today, I entered the Dry Bones office to find a dirty old pair of boots sitting next to one of our chairs. Torn, smelly, and filled with dirt, the boots spoke volumes. I carefully picked them up and walked them across the room. I honored their life by lowering them somberly into the trash can with a, “Thank you for your service.”
This happens all the time around here. Someone has located a new pair of gently used shoes from our stockpile and trades out the old for the “new”. (Thank you, donors!)
These boots really struck me this morning. Maybe it was because I know exactly who left them. I thought, “Wow. He really goes through shoes fast. He left some in that same spot about two weeks ago.”
If the shoe fits, wear it.
I buy new shoes once every 12 months or so. I know exactly what I like. I’m not a shoe guy nor a collector. I have friends who have a different pair of shoes for each day of the week, and that’s cool to me too.
Shoes are a sign of life. Each pair can tell a thousand tales.
My friends who seek their survival on the streets live in their shoes. They often never take them off. They walk through snow and mud, traipse through parks and alleyways. They carry heavy loads on their backs and put in many, many miles each day. They traverse the city – connecting with friends, seeking food and shelter, going to appointments, running from danger. They walk to Dry Bones a few times each week.
These boots are made for walking.
If kept dry, shoes help to keep feet warm and clean. But this is rare. I’ve witnessed some horrifying wounds on toes and heals. Trench foot, frost bite, and infections are too common. We have as much first aid supply as we do shoes and clean socks (Thanks again, donors!). It’s tough to keep your feet in good hiking condition when you don’t have a good place to take your shoes off and clean your feet at the end of the day.
Walk a mile in my shoes.
In the early days of our Elevations program, we would halt our line of youth group teen backpackers deep in the wilderness, many miles into the toughest hike. The kids were exhausted, their feet and backs hurt, and their energy was low. We’d circle them up and have them place their full heavy backpacks in front of their bodies. We would then tell them to move over one place to their left, while leaving their backpack in its original place. So, everyone now had possession of another’s pack.
They would heft the foreign load up onto their backs and we would begin hiking. Small girls who had the misfortune of standing next to 6’2” Robbie would strap his hip belt around their knees. Tall boys to the left of the small girl would bounce and run up the trail, feeling the lightness of the tiniest’s burdens.
You get the idea. We would each “step into the shoes” and carry the burden of the other for 10 or 15 minutes. The experience broke us wide open, every time.
I thought about this object lesson when I saw my friend’s left-behind boots this morning. My heart centered on his life, the path he walks daily, the experiences and lessons and lot he’s been given here on earth. I pictured his soul filling those boots these past few weeks. I wondered what sort of visions he had seen as he lived and breathed and survived the harsh city and winter. I wondered if those boots had been his true size. Did the shoe fit? How did it feel last night to finally slip them off before taking a hot shower, and before locating a new pair of shoes for the next leg of the journey?
I did not physically put his shoes on my feet and walk a mile, but I did in my heart, mind, and spirit.
This meditation increased my love, respect, understanding, compassion, and admiration for this extraordinary human.
He is a traveling soul on a lifelong journey of discovering who he truly is. Just like you. Just like me.
And so the boots shared a story…
Walking with God through city streets, he eventually finds a dry place to lay down for the night. He shoves his legs, shoes and all, down to the bottom of the sleeping bag. He sleeps alone in the alley. He’s found a hidden spot where no one will harm him and he can finally rest. His mind reviews the day. He takes one puff on an old cigarette, the smoke rising alongside his prayer for safety and gratitude. His eyes close, and he drifts off into dreamland.
His boots go with him.
They’ve seen a lot.
I hope you’ll listen closely as you hike through life today. From your heart, notice the shoes of another. Then, dare to step into their story.
