New Shoes

New Shoes

How can you foretell a person’s forever?

Not in tea-leaves, but laces and buckles and leather.

The shoes on our feet reflect the street,

Not just our cred but the path we tread.

You wouldn’t wear your dancing shoes

To mow the lawn or change a fuse.

And football boots would never do,

For garden parties or cleaning the loo.

The journeys we take require consideration;

Destination and footwear demand calibration.

Shoe-choosing is a momentous affair;

Your direction is set by the shoes that you wear.

And shoe-change exacts when your style is stamped on;

You can’t just kick them off and imagine them gone.

The problem with all this is, of course…

That the shoes we wear first are not ours by choice.

Our tiny toddling feet are measured with precision,

Then squashed into the shoe-mould of another person’s vision.

We have our picture taken for the scrapbook back at home,

Like a legal affidavit or commandment set in stone.

At first the fit recedes beneath our joy at starting rite,

Then little toes begin to pinch and straps feel far too tight.

Our feet have dreams of firemen’s boots, or movie-star high heels,

But we must walk our given path no matter how we feel.

There’s no point coveting others’ shoes, or the paths where they’ve been put.

We’ve a lifetime to endure it, so best learn to love your rut.

This is how it feels sometimes; the future bleak and hope all lost

But there’s one who, for the sake of shoes, was prepared to pay the cost.

A man walked forth in sandals, telling those he met to follow,

But his path led up a rocky hill to a place of pain and sorrow.

It was there his journey seemed to end, and everything went black.,

But soon he rose and conquered death, beating a brand new track.

And the track provides access for everyone, to shoes of all colours and styles.

It traverses the places you’ve dreamed of, stretching for infinite miles.

There are rocks on the path in places, and plenty of undulations,

But he’ll walk beside and be your guide, on your journey of liberation.

So if your shoes give you calluses, and your heels are rubbed and sore.

No appeal in the journey’s ending; no fork in the road to explore.

Then follow the man who wore sandals and nails, who will lead you to where you belong,

With shoes of redemption you’ll sing as you walk, beloved, as your journey song.

Jo Child

This poem isn’t really about shoes.

For me it’s about sometimes feeling that other people’s expectations of us, our past mistakes and our lack of self-esteem are things which hold us back in life. They can make us feel like we’re wearing entirely the wrong shoes to go where we’d like to go. We want to go dancing in beautiful high heels but we are wearing wellies. So we feel stuck.

However, this poem is also about hope. Even when we feel like we are wearing completely the wrong shoes to go where we’d like to go, because other people’s expectations are driving us, or we’ve made stupid mistakes and mucked things up, God  can give us new shoes. He gives us second chances and helps us to start again on a more positive path. 

If you feel like you are wearing the wrong shoes, for whatever reason, you could say this prayer:

Dear God,

You created me for an awesome purpose. I don’t have to be what other people expect me to be. And my mistakes don’t have to hold me back. I can fulfil my destiny because you are for me and not against me. You forgive my mistakes and make me new. Thank you God. Help me to walk in ‘new shoes’ for a new purpose, with confidence and trust,

Amen

#aplaceatthetable

#aplaceatthetable

If life were a story of tables, I wonder where would yours start?

A table of contents might be helpful, or a navigation table-chart.

In the beginning was a white table-tray. A glutinous orange chair.

A yellow dumper truck ferrying food, scattering green peas everywhere.

Then there was a table with autumn rust leaves.

Plates afloat with lamb chop boats in watery gravy seas.

A Christmasbirthdayanniversary, everyday table for four;

A table of strained solidarity, a table pre the divorce.

Grandma’s formica-topped table always wore its Sunday best. 

Pickled cucumber and boiled eggs. Roasted ham and chicken legs.

On this floury fifties altar to love and boiled fruit cake

I did homework, finished jigsaws, ate my tea, learned how to bake.

Then, suddenly, without warning, both table and Grandma were gone.

And in terms of this table-tale… then there was none.

A life without tables is very strange indeed;

Who now were my people, what now was my creed?

The thing about a table which isn’t always laid out clear

It’s the centrifuge that draws us, the bond that keeps us near.

And no place at the table means no place to belong

Others may invite you but you somehow feel all wrong.

Fine crockery and linen berate your lack of worth

You really can’t sit there dear; the food here costs the earth.

So, alone you sit, in silence, and eat your paltry fayre

Will there ever be a table laid for me, spills out despair?

A man once threw a party. The best food and finest wine.

But his friends, engaged in both business and love, declined his offer to dine.

So his servants scoured streets and alleyways and invited the blind and the lame.

And they all found a place at his table, everyone seated the same.

And all the food was paid for, through his love and gift of himself.

There was no gratuity added, no need for position or wealth.

It was here that I found myself seated, here I finally found myself home

Here I found love and fellowship; no longer afraid or alone.

This table belongs to Jesus. My God, king, brother, friend.

And the table stretches both far and wide, with no beginning or end.

There is space for you at the table. No matter your rags, wrong or blight.

He will clothe you in richest garments, pour balm on your wounds and set right

All your crooked and cracked, dusty pieces. All the bits you’re afraid to display

He embraces each one whilst in darkness, and brings them into the warm light of day.

So come now, a little bit closer. Come now and sit for a time,

Receive food of His love and belonging, the banquet of bread and of wine.

See your name on his hands, stretched before you, there since the beginning of time.

His eyes say you’re known, loved and belong here

His words say….

You’re mine. You are mine.

J. Child

March 2019

Life can sometimes feel a bit like a series of tables.

Some tables make us feel welcome and at home.

We sit and chat, eat the foods that we love; we feel that we belong.

Others can make us feel nervous. Are we wearing the right clothes? What do we do with all those different knives and forks? What do we have to say to people like these?

In the Bible Jesus tells the story of a banquet.

A man invited his friends to a fine dinner but they were too busy to come. Instead of cancelling the dinner he sends out his servants to invite anyone and everyone from the streets and alleyways of the city; the poor, the blind and the lame.

In telling this story, Jesus is saying that the welcome of God is not just for those who are respectable; it is for every single person, no matter how rich or poor or what issues they might have.

Because of this you need never feel that you don’t belong at the table. God owns every table and he is always with you. He has made you precious, unique and worthy. You belong wherever you choose to sit.

If you don't know the welcome of God but would like to find out more, why not find an Alpha course near you and sit at a table of discovery. 

www.alpha.org