Taking Off my Shoes

There were 3 things my dad insisted upon when I was growing up. These were non-negotiable. I wasn’t to work until I graduated high school (rest assured I still came out of it with a strong work ethic), we weren’t to have a garden and I was never to go barefoot.

My dad grew up during the depression. His family had a small farm and due to their meager income, my dad was forced to live with relatives in order for the family to be able to provide food for the younger kids at home. All to say, gardens, children working and bare feet were strong representatives of that difficult time in my dad’s life. If I was ever caught without shoes, my dad would immediately have me put them back on. “No daughter of mine is going to run around looking like a hilligin.”

This past week I was reading in Exodus the story of Moses, specifically the story of his encounter with the burning bush. The commentary suggested that many people would glance at the bush, see it on fire, recognize that it wasn’t spreading and then walk away. But Moses kept looking, noticing something unique, that something miraculous was taking place. “In a sense, Moses’ behavior exemplifies a choice we all have when looking at life - am I seeing a miracle?” This comment was then followed by a verse from Elizabeth Barrett Browning.

Earth’s crammed with heaven,

And every common bush afire with God

But only he who sees takes off his shoes…

I can’t get that poem out of my head. I’m drawn to it, inspired by it. Inspired by Moses, who could have taken a glance at the bush and kept walking, but chose, instead, to stop and decide - am I seeing a miracle?

My life is full. I work a full time job, spend my evenings with Eva or Phoenix, currently in rehearsals for our upcoming Ultimate Christmas Party, and join in on all the other great events happening in and around our church and community. It’s very easy for me to glance and walk by because I’ve got something else to get to.

I often speak, if not have also written, about what Eva has taught me about recognizing miracles, redefining them. When she smiles, it’s a miracle. When she responds with her voice or with her foot, it’s a miracle. When she breathes on her own, it’s a miracle.

But there are more miracles afoot, if I would just stop long enough to recognize what I’m looking at or hearing of. People who have decided to forgive someone, change their unhealthy behavior, volunteer their time to an organization or church, serve their neighbors, help a stranger. The list goes and on. These miracles happen every day but are seldom captured long enough to recognize the action or decision for what it is. A miracle.

And I want to change that. I want to not only slow myself down to listen and see, but to remain in place long enough in order to ask the question. Am I seeing a miracle? And if I am…then taking off my shoes. As God instructed Moses to do. “Remove your sandals from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground.”

So that’s what I’m going to do. I know I could live in the symbolic world that in my heart I’m taking off my shoes, but that’s not how I operate. I am a doer, one who loves physical symbolism.

So I’m going to practice. I’m going to practice slowing down, paying attention, asking the miracle question and then if the answer is “yes,” I’m taking off my shoes, knowing my dad, without hesitation, would bless this action immensely. And, most likely, join me. Both of us being hilligins for the miracles of God.