Today was barefoot night at Generate//Jr. High. (And yes, those are my lovely fat hobbit-like feet) We asked the students to come to service barefoot and leave a pair (or many more) of shoes that could be donated to Soles for Souls, an organization that shoes the shoeless.
I misunderstood the fact that it was only for tonight that we would go shoeless. So I ended up taking the entire day without shoes, with the exception of working out. But every walk through a parking lot, the entire afternoon, and even a trip to Wendy's was shoeless for me. And I'll tell you, that Crossroads parking lot isn't forgiving to the shoeless. Nor are many other parking lots or concrete surfaces. However, each and every time that my foot struck a slightly jagged rock, I didn't complain or wince in pain. Not to be some tough guy, because I'll admit it did hurt. But I began to think of those children around the globe who were shoeless at that same moment. It was a reality check. My Monday discomfort was a way of life for them Sunday-Saturday, with no thought or hope of relief from a dirty path to tread upon.
The really big hit was when I got home. I so looked forward to getting on to my warm fuzzy carpet, then strolling across my climate controlled living room to my bathroom with hot AND cold water to which I could adjust the temperature 'just right'. Then I was floored with this thought..
That poor child who walks about their every day business and works and toils and suffers did NOT have this LUXURY! The home they typically walk into has the same floor inside as it does out. Dirt. They don't get to wash their feet clean and put on warm fuzzy slippers. No. They get to add to today's layer of dirt tomorrow.
As the dirt was lifted off my feet in my bath, I looked at the redness of my feet. I began to think about how blessed I am. How much I take for granted. How much I don't praise God for daily. My freshly washed cotton towels from Target. The warm brown sweats from Mervyn's. The comfortable furniture from Pier 1. To an American, these things are 'decent' and 'not too shabby'. I know to a child who lives in an impoverished state, I live like King Solomon.
