For several years beside my front door, we had two small baskets of shoes. This was our compromise. We had a shoe rack where my wife and I put our shoes, but try as we might we could not get our children to use it. Lucas was nearly five. Emerson, six-going-on-twenty.
They’ve always taken off their shoes when they come in the house but then where the shoes go after that is anyone’s guess. So we instituted the baskets. Don’t worry about matching. Don’t worry about setting them side-by-side. Just chuck them in the basket. Doesn’t even matter which one…
It’s was a crazy pile of styles. One pink velcro sandal, two pairs of crocs–one tan, the other pink with fuzzy liner, dirty tennis shoes for playing in the backyard, and clean ones for going to school, a single hiking boot and a pair of water socks. Shiny black dress shoes that go with a dress my daughter never wears, and a crazy pair of green high-tops that she loves more than anything. Somewhere at the bottom is a pair of ballet slippers.
Shoes of different style and color. Shoes for water. Shoes for mud. Shoes that look fancy, and some that are just fun. There’s shoes for hot days, and for rainy cold ones. There are a lot of shoes in there.
I’ve been thinking about those shoes and something occurred to me. It’s nice to have all of them and all the options they create. But what matters most about all those shoes isn’t the shoe at all. It’s the little feet inside, and what direction they are walking.
What’s that have to do with worship?