Mrs. Ferrier and the Shoes of Sin

At the beginning of this summer, I had a very important appointment.

I’ll spare you the identifying details of where this appointment took place or what it was about. All you really need to know is that it gave me an opportunity to dress up like a real, honest-to-god Working Woman. Since I’d spent the previous two or so weeks doing nothing but working from home and taking care of kids and wearing nothing except boring, kid-friendly clothes, I was excited about the prospect of putting on something from my closet that was dry clean only. On the morning of the very important appointment, I took time with my makeup. I chose my favorite, most sophisticated black dress. And I topped (or, technically, bottomed) off the look with a to-die-for pair of leopard print heels I’d ordered on a flash sale site and hadn’t yet gotten the chance to wear.

I looked in the mirror and, for the first time in weeks, I actually liked what I saw. No one could tell by looking at me that I had spent the last few weeks doing little more than making peanut butter sandwiches, writing posts, refereeing arguments about which Skylander character was the most awesomest, answering e-mails, and vacuuming. I smiled back at my reflection. This was going to be fun!

Once I arrived at the appointment, I was directed to a waiting room where three other people were sitting and chatting. One was the pastor of a local mega church. One was the author of a new book. And one was a shoe salesman. But he wasn’t just any shoe salesman– and he REALLY wanted us to know it.

“Fitting shoes is a calling,” he was telling the others gravely as I entered the room. “I have spent my life helping others, and leading them to wear shoes that will give them better health and greater happiness.” He proudly displayed his own thick-soled orthopedic shoes and gave the pastor a knowing look. “Our professions are really very similar, as I’m sure you’d agree. Both of us call others to more fulfilling lives.” The pastor smiled politely. Satisfied, the shoe salesman turned to the author.

“You can also relate,” he said smugly. “You write books to help others. I help others every day by giving them shoes that will make their lives worth living again.” The author clutched her book and nodded nervously. I was feeling a little nervous, too. We were seated in a close semi-circle, and these were out on full display…

And they were definitely not orthopedic.

Inevitably, the shoe salesman turned his gaze on me. I pretended to be very busy on my iPhone. There was a long pause as he looked me up and down. At last, he made an assessment.

“Those shoes are a problem, honey,” he drawled.

Here we go. Reluctantly, I looked up.

“Excuse me?” I said.

“Your fifth metatarsal is hanging off those shoes. You really shouldn’t be wearing them.” His face contorted into an approximation of concern.

I set down my phone and looked the man square in the eye. Had this man seen the endless dishes I had washed? The laundry I’d folded? The meals I had prepared? The squabbles I had mediated? The picture books I’d read aloud? The games I had played? The blog posts I had written? The e-mails I had sent? ALL WHILE WEARING BORING, SENSIBLE SHOES? Did this man have any idea of how good it had felt to  put on a pair of to-die-for leopard heels and feel like a grown-up for two hours before returning to the land of jam fingers and dirty faces? NO. OF COURSE NOT. This man just wanted to judge, to make me feel bad about myself, to put me down in some twisted attempt to make himself look better.

I wanted to say all of these things aloud, but there was a pastor present, so I kept myself in check. “I don’t run marathons in these shoes,” I said with a forced smile on my face, “or do housework while I’m wearing them. I don’t climb mountains or trees in them. I don’t wear these shoes when I’m riding a bike or rowing a boat or dancing in a ballet. So? I think I’ll be okay.” I looked back down at my iPhone. The room was silent for a few seconds.

“I declare,” the man sniffed, clearly affronted. “All a man can do is try to show others the right way to live. Pastor I’m sure you agree.”

“Well, I…” the pastor fumbled.

“I just try to be a good Christian, even when it’s not the popular thing to do,” the shoe salesman continued. “But you can’t force a person to lead the life God intended. You can only set a good example and hope others,” here he paused for effect, “will come around.”

Yes, friends. I was called out as an unrepentant sinner, a fallen woman– based on my SHOES. I have to admit, I was pretty perturbed about it at the time, but since that time,  I think that shoe salesman would be happy to know I’ve come around. Yes, thanks to his Christian words and example, my orthopedic shoe-selling friend can rest assured of one thing…

These soles will DEFINITELY be saved.