At some point, we all find them perhaps. Those first baby shoes, bronzed or packed away with care, those shoes you wore to first grade.
It would be interesting indeed to look back on all those shoes we have worn over time.
Those really spiffy dress shoes for interviews. Sweet pair of our favorite tennis shoes we wore when out doing fun things, shoes we had for yard work, military boots, high heels. Sandals. The ones we wore our wedding day. Or to a funeral.
My mom loved her tennis shoes and jeans so much (and her OSU sweat shirt) she was shown in them at her funeral.
Over the course of our life, we have worn many shoes. And sometimes, they help us to see as well as to walk.
And the footprints they leave behind can often tell a story of where we are now, or where some are headed.
Some have tread a path of luxury. Too many of war. Too many as well the path of poverty.
But they all started at one size. Small. Tiny even.
And as those sizes changed, so did too the person walking in them.
At one point - they fit so snuggly, so well. We ran and played in them. We dreamed in them in our days of youth. And while dreamed away our days pretending we were a comic book hero saving the world, another child ran barefoot through a mine field left by war.
I remember one odd pair I had, Tabi boots I think they were called. Ninjas supposedly wore them. I could envision myself being one and righting the wrongs of the world.
Others saw their military issued boots as being the ones that would help them right the wrongs. And still others wore nice Italian dress shoes as they walked up the steps of their statehouse or of congress, hoping to change the world.
And still others, our nurses and doctors, firefighters and cops, all wear their own type - hoping to change, if not the world, the lives of some people in it.
And then there are the shoes of the marchers. The protesters. Worn out from the long walking, picketing. Worn down in their quest to make things right.
And today - we have those who wear slippers and sit behind a screen, a new medium with which to battle for that which is right.
We all wear different shoes. The ones with the real power are not always wearing military boots or fine dress shoes. Sometimes, like my mom, they wear sneakers. And they still have an impact on the lives of many. And they find and promote peace one person at a time.
We make war in boots. Love with no shoes at all (usually....). And those in poverty have holes in their shoes, and no laces to tie them up with.
When my time comes, I hope I am wearing my sneakers. They were made for walking. And if things don't change soon in this world of ours, they will do quite well for marching.
I don't know what changed from those early times of my very first shoes, I know my life and thought processes have though. And somewhere in my past is a battered pair of ninja boots - hoping I will find them and work once again on that dream of changing the world for the better. They weren't loafers, they were made for working.
So as you pull on that pair tomorrow (although, to be fair, my grandfather had only one leg and so did not have a pair....) think for a brief moment about all the shoes you have worn in life - and ask yourself, which ones will I wear today.
And, by and by, there is nothing wrong with that nice pair of slippers. Get online. Get active. And send them nice shoe wearing people some emails and blog away.
Our fight for justice wears many shoes. And I welcome them all.
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