If the Shoe Fits

A good pair of shoes is hard to come by. You can spend thousands of dollars on art for your feet, that you will only wear once. But a pair of shoes you can carry with you for years, that is nothing short of, well, epic.

Now I have many shoes. Many. I have blue suede heels, I have bronze strappy platforms and riding boots. Black heals that go with everything, and booties that can only go with on top, with one pair of jeans. My closet is literally spilling and busting at the seams. I know this, because this morning, in my usual routine of haste, I was on my knees, wading my way through the abyss of leather and buckles searching for the other half of the pair I was looking for, when I heard an ominous creaking. I froze, mid-toss of a useless non-match, and cringed. I knew what was about to happen, it had happened before. I shut my eyes, not wanting to watch what I was sure was about to unfold. After a few prolonged seconds of silence, I gingerly opened my eyes. Ah, sweet. Safe.

As I finished dropping the red patent heal behind me, it happened. With a loud crack the closet door popped off its hinge and my tower of shoes came tumbling out. Ughhh…. Oh wait! There’s the shoe I need!

I grabbed it and ran out the door with an evil laugh under my breath. Haha! You will not conquer me!!!!

But as I sat in traffic, contemplating the mess I would have to return to, I asked myself the question every shoe freak avoids: do I really need all those shoes, and really, do I wear them all? I shrank down in my car slightly as I remembered a flash of a shoe I forgot I had. Where did I even buy those?

My closet is a parallel to my life to this point; full of schizophrenia and indecisiveness. I used to think it was a tribute to my eclectic personality, now I realize, it’s not eclectic if it has no general direction or trend. Then it’s just foolishness.

But maybe it’s a little less black and white as that. Maybe the symptom is less about my own dysfunction, but rather, the dysfunction of that which I find myself in. I am never one to point the finger, or not take responsibility, but as my faith has grown bigger, so has my concept of myself. The traditional definitions have started to break down as I hear other articulating what has never really coalesced in my mind. I keep reading these books researching blogs and hearing snippets of conversations, thinking, “Yes!!!! That’s it! That’s what I’ve been trying to say, but never really could…. And honestly, I never would have said it that well. Bravo!”
Maybe it’s timing, maybe it’s age, maybe it’s the places I’ve been and the people I’ve met and the heartbreak I have felt, but something has clicked, deep down in my soul, as I have found kindred spirits in the most unusual places. I’ve found a grace that I have been craving, an understanding that frees my mind and faith that isn’t painful.

It’s as though I’ve been searching for the perfect pair of shoes, searching, failing to find, and instead settling for whatever is closest that might suffice. I’ve looked through the magazines, perused the stores, tried on and off, and what has been available has never been quite right, but it’s all there has been. So I would fork out the credit card, pay the price, but never really get what I was hoping for and after wearing the unsatisfactory shoes for a while, throw them into the endless pile. Some ended up wearing out fast, some I only wore once and some I have had for years.

I’ve done it with my faith, my understanding and my heart, for years. What has been offered has never really done the trick, but it was all that was given, so it chafed, created blisters, looked good sometimes and others just did the job of creating space between my feet and the ground.

As I think back to my limited space and the wasted money that remains in my closet, I think about how much baggage those damn shoes have created and something in me looks forward to the tedious task of cleaning out the closet.

There is no reason to settle for what hasn’t fit for so long. It may be frightening, letting go of what has been old and maybe grown comfortable with repeated wears, but an empty closet is preferable to the guilt and avoidance of the monster that lurks just beyond the thin doors. There is no need to hold to what doesn’t work anymore. No matter how functional they were for the time being. My feet need a chance to breath, to relax, to lose the callouses that have grown inadvertently from trying to force my fat little feet into shoes that they shouldn’t be forced into.
My soul needs the same.

The flimsy closet doors of my heart finally burst and a long and painful cleaning out process has occurred. So many things that fit so well for others, were never going to fit for me, but instead of the grace to see that, I just assumed it was a fault of mine, rather than faulty logic on the part of a culture, a community, or friends and family.

So, as I think about my next shoe shopping trip, I find myself hesitating. Maybe I will hold off for a while. It may just be a better idea to work through what I already have, trying them on again, working them into my wardrobe, feeling how they fit on my feet. I’ll have to line them up with where I see the next few weeks, months heading and whether or not I love them enough to pack them up and take them with me everywhere, or if they wouldn’t be worth their space.

My beliefs and feelings are going to have to be the same for a while. Before I grab something brand new, for now, I am going to have to shed some of the already dead weight. How does what I have been taught match up with what I really believe, and which needs to go? Instead of collecting pointless euphemisms and Sunday school answers until my seams are busting, the old is going to have to be compared with a greater truth, prayed over and either become an authentic staple in my faith wardrobe, or be tossed out with no regret.

And for once, I can honestly say, it will all be about whether or not the shoe fits.