Sunday, July 25, 2010

The Shoes


Bethany House has a beautiful new anthology out. It's titled, Love Is A Flame (Stories of What Happens When Love is Rekindled), with a foreword by Gary Chapman. I was honored to be included in this collection of unique and moving stories and have decided to share my story, "The Shoes," here.

The incident I write about occurred many years ago, but I'm still quite embarrassed by my childish behavior every time I read the account again. But all's well that ends well, and that's what Love Is A Flame is all about.



The Shoes


As I walked through the dimly lit house one evening, I stumbled across my husband's size-13 tennis shoes. I went crashing to the floor, taking with me several picture frames from the coffee table.

Why can't he put his shoes in the closet? I mumbled to myself. He knows I hate tripping over them.

Just then my husband yelled from the back of the house, "What's all the racket about? Are you okay?"

That did it. "No, I'm not okay!" I hollered. "Not okay at all!"

Stan came to the door and stared down at me. I could tell he wanted to laugh, but he didn’t. "What happened?" he asked, innocently.

"Why can't you just put your stupid shoes in the closet, like normal people?" I grumbled, sitting up to inspect my wounds.

"Well, it might help if you'd turn a light on instead of wandering through the house in the dark," he said, smugly.

"That's beside the point, Stan. You know I've asked you dozens of times to stop leaving your shoes all over the house; they're like two sailboats. I’m serious. They’re dangerous."

We stared silently at each other across the floor. Saying nothing, he reached for the shoes and disappeared down the hall. I knew they'd be back. It was only a matter of time.

Later in the week, I arrived home and discovered five pairs of Stan's shoes in the living-room.

His house shoes camped under the edge of the couch. His work shoes decorated the hearth. His brown dress shoes jutted out from under the coffee table. His high-tops lay in front of the rocker. And those abominable tennis shoes glared at me in front of the grandfather clock.

Scowling at the slew of shoes, I had a malicious idea. Starting at one end of the living-room, I placed all ten shoes in a straight line until they reached the hallway. Breathing hard, I stood back and admired my work. He wouldn’t be able to get through the room without having to walk over them—or move them.

For a moment, I felt remorse. But the feeling passed and I attempted to justify my immature behavior. That'll serve him right, I said to myself. Let him see what it's like to maneuver around these boats. Better yet, let him see what it's like to have to put them all in the shoe rack.

I waited for his arrival home with much anticipation, but, to my dismay, the parade of shoes didn't seem to faze him. "What's this?" was all he said. The next time I looked, the shoes were gone. Still, I knew they'd be back. They always came back.

One day after driving my daughter to school, I returned home, made myself a cup of coffee, and settled on the couch for a time of devotion. I would try to ignore the familiar size-13 shoes scattered all over the room, but it was difficult. As I read from Thessalonians, I laughed out loud when my eyes came to rest on this verse in the fifth chapter: "Rejoice evermore."

"God," I said, half-laughing, "If you can give me one good reason to rejoice over these shoes, I'll be happy to do so."

Early next morning, I drove Stan to the airport. He was flying to Baltimore for the weekend to participate in the Houston firefighter's annual muscular dystrophy softball tournament. "Have a good time," I said, giving him a kiss at the gate. "See you Monday.” He waved me off.

I returned home late in the afternoon, switched on the radio, and started preparing dinner. Suddenly, I heard the newscaster saying, "Once again, there are no survivors in that plane crash."

For a moment, my heart stopped. I sat down at the kitchen table, my hands shaking. Plane crash? What plane crash? But the news was over. Fumbling frantically with the dial, I found another station and heard the tragic details: USAir, flight 427, had gone down from Chicago to Pittsburgh, killing all passengers on board.

Shocked by the news, I laid my head on the cold table and wept. Both from relief and sadness. Even though my husband was not on that plane, I realized how uncertain life is, and how numbing the shock must be for those families who had loved ones aboard.

That evening, after putting my daughter to bed, I stooped to remove Stan's tennis shoes from where he'd left them in front of the full-length mirror. But instead of putting them away, I put them on. They felt awkward and massive on my small feet.

For several minutes, I stood studying my ridiculous reflection in the mirror. Then I looked down at the shoes. They were molded in the exact shape of my husband's feet. I knew every hump and bump so well.

No one else could wear these shoes but Stan. How would I feel if I knew my husband would never again fill these shoes? The thought was unthinkable. Somewhere tonight, a woman, without warning, was a widow. Her husband would never again wear his shoes. A chill sliced through my heart. I mourned for her.

The day Stan came home, Anna Marie and I gathered in the living-room listening to all the details of his trip; of how his team had gone undefeated in their division. And while my daughter admired the shiny, first-place trophy Stan pulled proudly from his bag, I couldn't keep my eyes off the size-13 shoes he'd dropped underneath the coffee table. Funny, I didn't wish them to be anywhere else. They were a comforting sign. My husband was home.


This story appears in the upcoming release, Love is A Flame (Bethany House) compiled by James Stuart Bell.

Adapted from the book, Silver Linings, by Dayle Allen Shockley. All rights reserved.


Epilogue: This was one of those rare occasions when it only took one prompting to change my ways. I never complained about my husband's shoes again, even though he still keeps them scattered from here to yon. I now happily consider them part of the decor.

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I'm linking up with Charlotte and Ginger for Spiritual Sundays,
a blog filled with inspirational words and music.

22 comments:

  1. A beautiful recollection of learning to appreciate who we have and loving them for what they are!!! Thank you for a little heart warming on this Sunday a.m.!!!

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  2. This was such a moving story for me. Like you, I have had fits about my hubby's big shoes littering the house. We live in a small house so one pair of shoes in the middle of the floor can take up a lot of room! I grumble to myself every day as I collect those big boats and stick them on the stairs for him to bring up. As much as I love him, not once have I stopped to think about how I would feel if he weren't coming home to those shoes. Thank you for reminding me that it's not about where the shoes have been kicked off but WHO it is that wears them.

    Many blessings to you!

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  3. Dayle,
    Thank you for a wonderful story! Makes us realize how fleeting life can be.


    ~Jean

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  4. I loved this post! Thanks for sharing it!
    Carrie

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  5. Very touching, sis. Thanks for reminding us how uncertain life is.

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  6. Great story, Dayle. It has a lot of "sole!" Great job! Meaningful, too. Susan

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  7. What a great story! I enjoyed reading it; thanks for sharing.

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  8. ~Big Sigh~
    We all have stumbled over someone else's habits.
    Better to "habit" then not to "habit".

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  9. Oh. how I love this post! That is me!!! Like Stan, I leave my shoes all over the place. I wonder if it drives my husband nuts?
    God surely spoke to you and showed you how to "rejoice evermore."

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  10. Absolutely wonderful. I'm not like Stan, I don't leave shoes or anything else laying around in the way. However, my wife leaves her shoes, more than one pair, not necessarily out in the way but in the family room. I smiled when I read your post. I'm going back down to the family room in a minute. I hope there is a pair of shoes left there. I will be glad to see them. Thanks for your splendid post.

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  11. I am also married to a size 13 - God love our husbands, what would we do without them?!

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  12. How true, how convicting, and how well done! I love the part about you stepping into his shoes the best.

    I related to this very much because not only do I have an airplane crash phobia, but I have a traveling husband and know how wonderful it is to see his "stuff" scattered about. Great post!

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  13. Oh, Dayle, that was lovely.

    My DH leaves his dress-shoes in the middle of our dark brown shag rug in our bathroom nook. I have stubbed my toe on them SO MANY TIMES. I could so relate to your frustration!

    And also, too, that no one else could ever fill those shoes. I will try to be thankful for the shoes, and the socks and undies that don't quite make it in the hamper, and the open kitchen cupboards and all the signs of life he leaves about our home. Thank God that he is part of our home!

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  14. It's amazing how some tragedy can make us realize what is really important in life. Thank you for sharing this experience with us. I'm happy to say my husband always puts his shoes away. Now mine on the other hand - many times two pair can be seen in the family room.
    Blessings,
    Charlotte

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  15. Oh I will be thinking of this story while I trip over my husbands shoes today...and tomorrow...and the next day...

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  16. I always say to "choose your battles" and now this is forever in your heart as a reminder of how precious life is. Thanks for sharing your story.

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  17. Hi Dayle! I'm a bit embarrassed to tell you that just yesterday I had a "talk" with my husband about the three pairs of shoes sitting in front of the door to the laundry room and how I manage to trip often over them. Time to change my thinking...thank you for the prompt!

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  18. That story touches my heart. My mom was a beautician and was complaining about how badly my daddy messed up the bed every night. After she'd vented about how difficult it was to make the bed in their tiny bedroom, a customer who had been quietly listening shared this. Her husband was the same way until he died of a heart attack. Now she wishes she had a messy bed to make up. It's something I've always tried to remember with all my family members. Thank you for the reminder.

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  19. What a great story, thanks so much for sharing it!

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