Those Aren’t My Shoes.
Getting into the stride of God means nothing less than union with Himself…Don’t give in because the pain is bad just now…before long you will find you have a new vision and a new purpose. O. Chambers.
~I’ve worn shoes that (apparently) aren’t my style. And endured a classic “Mo-o-o-o-mm” followed by an adolescent eye roll.
~I’ve worn shoes not my size.
And suffered blisters as a natural consequence.
~I’ve worn shoes with no heel so as not to tower over a stature-challenged (and insecure) boyfriend during a stupid young season in my life (and long since over it)
~I’ve worn shoes with a 4+-inch heel to give me added height when doing so was to my advantage.
It seems the shoes Jesus gives me to wear are fashioned for a purpose. Actually, for His purpose. They’re meant for me to walk in stride with Him.
Problem is, I prefer to walk in shoes that perform on stage, or are accepting an award, or even lounge in a rocking chair beneath a warm, dusky sky.
I covet a pair of my own ruby slippers that’ll usher me where I want to go with just three clicks of the heel. Because I simply don’t relish the idea of walking unchartered, profuse landscapes or filthy, dark valleys that might scuff and scratch.
After Jesus commanded Peter to feed and take care of His sheep, He spoke of the kind of death by which Peter would glorify God. Then said, “Follow Me.” (John 21:22)
But when Peter turned and saw John, the Master’s fav disciple, following them, he asked, “Lord what about him?”
I can just picture Peter slowing his steps, thumbing over his shoulder, with likely an arched brow of concern about his fate relative to John’s.
Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow Me.”
Somewhere hidden in there I hear, “Disregard the shoes I give to another and wear the pair I give you. You must follow Me.”
He has a different way of doing things, and we have to be trained and disciplined into His ways. O. Chambers.
~I don’t like the cold. But God has handed me snow boots.
And scooted me outside to find others who need His warmth.
~I don’t care much for rain. But God has handed me rain boots.
And had me look for those who need shelter.
~And hefty steel-toed boots?
That got me concerned. I prepped for getting my toes stepped on, trekking across some kind of dangerous ground.
I don’t know what kind of shoes Enoch wore, but they must have come equipped with jet packs.
“Enoch walked with God; then he was no more because God took him away.” (Genesis 5:24)
I figure the man must have walked in the shoes he’d been given, the distance he’d been told, in stride with the Father, never once fussing about the destination.
If someone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Matthew 5:41
Get that? TWO miles. In company with a bad mamma-jamma.
When God hands me a pair of shoes I know they’ll fit because, well, He knows my size. He doesn’t guarantee they’ll be stylish or clean,
but they’ll serve a purpose. His purpose.
And I might not like where they’ll take me, but I choose to walk in stride with my trustworthy traveling Companion.