Old Shoes

Bonjour tout le monde,

Maybe I’m getting lazy in my old age, but I’m going to cope-out with today’s post and use a poem that came to me via e-mail. I like the hidden messages of sincerity and humility that the poem presents.

 I searched the internet for an author’s name, but found none. There are numerous poems on the “Old Shoes” theme and several variations of this poem. Kudos to the unknown author of this poem.

I guess we could all learn from the sentiment contained in this poem.

 I showered and shaved.
I adjusted my tie.
I got there and sat
In a pew just in time.

Bowing my head in prayer
As I closed my eyes.
I saw the shoe of the man next to me
Touching my own and I sighed.

With plenty of room on either side,
I thought, "Why must our soles touch?"
It bothered me. His shoe is touching mine
But it didn't bother him much.

A prayer began: "Our Father"
I thought, "This man with the shoes has no pride.
They're dusty, worn, and scratched.
Even worse, there are holes on the side!"

"Thank You for blessings," the prayer went on.
The shoe man said a quiet "Amen."
I tried to focus on the prayer
But my thoughts were on his shoes again.

Aren't we supposed to look our best
When walking through that door?
"Well, this certainly isn't it,"
I thought while glancing toward the floor.

Then the prayer was ended.
The songs of praise began.
The shoe man was certainly loud
Sounding proud as he sang.

His voice lifted the rafters.
His hands were raised high.
The Lord could surely hear
The shoe man's voice from the sky.

It was time for the offering.
What I threw in was steep.
I watched as the shoe man reached
Into his pockets so deep.

I saw what was pulled out
What the shoe man put in.
Then I heard a soft "clink"
As when silver hits tin.

The sermon really bored me
To tears and that's no lie.
It was the same for the shoe man.
For tears fell from his eyes.

At the end of the service
As is the custom here
We must greet new visitors
And show them all good cheer.

But I felt moved somehow
And wanted to meet the shoe man.
So after the closing prayer
I reached over and shook his hand.

He was old and his skin was dark.
His hair was truly a mess.
But I thanked him for coming
And being our guest.

He said, "My name is Charlie.
I'm glad to meet you, my friend."
There were tears in his eyes
But he had a large, wide grin.

"Let me explain," he said,
Wiping tears from his eyes,
"I've been coming here for months
And you're the first to say 'Hi.'"

"I know that my appearance
Is not like all the rest.
But I really do try
To always look my best."

"I always clean and polish my shoes
Before my very long walk.
But by the time I get here
They're dirty and dusty, like chalk."

My heart filled with pain
And I swallowed to hide my tears
As he continued to apologize
For daring to sit so near.

He said, "When I get here
I know I must look a sight,
But I thought if I could touch you
Then maybe our souls might unite."

I was silent for a moment
Knowing whatever was said
Would pale in comparison.
I spoke from my heart, not my head.

"Oh, you've touched me," I said,
"And taught me, in part
That the best of any man
Is what is found in his heart."

The rest, I thought,
This shoe man will never know.
Like just how thankful I really am
That his dirty old shoe touched my soul.

 Stuff:

To my readers around the world . . . Happy New Year!

That the year, 2017, be a good one and the world becomes a more peaceful place is my wish for all……. Herm