The Road Shoe

In the road was a shoe.

It wasn’t a tennis shoe.

It wasn’t a dress shoe.

It wasn’t an athletic shoe.

It wasn’t a hiking shoe.

It was an old black leather high-top shoe that lay tipped on its side, its sole visible and vulnerable.  The untied laces lay twisted on the pavement beside it.

Alone, it lay there in the middle of the lane.

I wondered where its mate was.

And, I wondered what decision led to the shoe’s location and precarious position. (It was obvious the shoe did not place itself there on purpose.)

Had it been discarded? …no longer wanted?

Was it lost? …its owner looking for it?

The shoe had trod many miles and seen many days of usefulness.  Oh, the stories it could tell if its tongue were loosed and empowered to talk.

I wanted to claim the shoe, but I was only a passenger traveling from location to destination.

Perhaps someone came along and saw the value in what had been discarded and the shoe found new purpose and new meaning.  Perhaps even now that which was one man’s trash has become another’s treasure.

Instead of lying in the road with its tongue hanging out and its laces sprawled before it…perhaps it graces someone’s porch or garden, stuffed full of flowers and overflowing with beauty.

Reclaimed and repurposed.  Ah…that’s what God does for the tired, weary, discarded and forgotten.  He rescues us, cleans us up, gives us new meaning and a new purpose.


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