I have always
relished the scent of new shoes. As a
matter of fact, my earliest memory of new shoes was around the age of
four.
Buster Brown black patent leather
Mary Jane’s!
Talk about shine! I could see my reflection in those shoes. I was so proud of my new “buckle shoes”. Yep, I
had a heapin’ helpin’ of pride for those shoes. So much so, that I dared one
scuff to scar the black lacquered finish. The only thing that kept them from
being permanently tethered to my feet was the photo of Buster Brown and his dog
Tige tucked secretly away on the inside sole of each shoe. I had a crush on Tige, and an
unwavering imagination. There was no
convincing me that Tige did not live in my
shoes.
He was my dog from
that moment on.
Proverbs 16:18 of the Bible instructs us concerning
pride. At four years of age, I was, as
most four year old's, unaware of this instruction. I probably had never heard the word pride. If I had, I am quite certain I
would have given the neighbor’s cat a new name. All I was aware of at the time was my new pair of Buster Brown
buckle shoes. So, eyes fixed and focused
on my newly shod and gleaming feet, daydreaming about all the fun that Tige and
I was certain to have, I headed down the sidewalk and across the street. Totally
oblivious to my surroundings, I was quickly brought to an abrupt, quite
painfully humiliating - STOP!
!!PING!!
The sound of forehead and metal pole engaging
rang loudly in my ears! Head flailing backwards and feet flying out from under
me, down I crashed onto the cemented pavement.
Startled and shaken, I soon felt gentle arms reach for me. Unbeknownst to this tearful tot, Mamma had seen my deliriously daydreaming peril during a brief glance from the kitchen window--and Mamma was hot on my heels. Picking me up from the bloodied and tear stained
cement, I gazed down towards my feet.
The sight of scathed and bleeding knees, torn leotards and scuffed up
Mary Jane’s filled my eyes with a waterfall of liquid affliction. In one crash my pride was broken and my
self-centered world came crashing down around me.
Hand in hand with Mamma, suffering her blistering scolds of “wandering off into the street”
and “you could have been hit by a car” admonitions, I stared down at my feet as
if I had committed the ultimate sin.
Through my irresponsible actions, I had brought injury to my new shoes,
Tige, Mamma and me.
I would like to
say that I learned my lesson that day. I
didn’t. Throughout this journey I have
continued to head bang poles. I have
bolted, jolted, crumpled and regained my composure time and time again. And with each thundering, grievous “ping” I encounter
in life, I am learning more and more about the person of “me” and my purpose
for being. And although the gentle
loving arms of Mamma are no longer available to reach down and pick me up from
each debilitating plummet, I am learning to reach in and reach up for the stronger
arms of the great I AM. Not because I am
pridefully deserving--but simply because I am His.
