My alarm went off. It was Sunday again. I was sleepy and tired. My one day to sleep in. But the guilt I would feel the rest of the day would have been too much. So I’d go and I’d pray.
I showered and shaved I adjusted my tie. I got there and sat in a pew just in time. Bowing my head in prayer as I closed my eyes I saw the shoe of the man next to me touching my own. I sighed. With plenty of room on either side I thought, “Why must our soles touch?” It bothered me, his shoe touching mine. But it didn’t bother him much.
A prayer began: “Our Father”…
I thought, “This man with the shoes has no pride. They’re dusty, worn, and scratched. Even worse, there are 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 was ended and the songs of praise began. The shoe man was certainly loud sounding proud as he sang. His voice lifted the rafters his hands were raised high. The Lord could surely hear the shoe man’s voice from the sky.Read More »