The Shoes
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'd pray.
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!
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