Bare Feet

I have a friend who likes to take off her shoes. Family members joke about her habit and roll their eyes each time she sends another picture of her feet resting comfortably on the banister of some deck overlooking another picturesque sunset. True to form, the signature photograph for her blog is of her feet (and those of close friends). . . up, crossed, and utterly relaxed.

This summer I have had my shoes off a bit, and each time I do I think about my friend and her perpetual bare feet. It’s more than comfort. For me, it represents a view of life, and my hope is that, with or without shoes, I can hold that view more often.

Many years ago, a man named Moses was minding his own business when he encountered a bush that was burning but not being consumed by the flames. Startled, he quickly realized it was an encounter with something, or someone, greater than he, and was instructed to remove his shoes for the ground on which he stood was holy. Moses, like my friend, took off his shoes.

It’s hard to stay busy and down to business when your toes are free to wiggle about. It’s hard to think about all that you need when a breeze swirls around your infant like feet and reminds you of all you have. When looking out at a sunset or sunrise, watching children playing tag on the lawn, or talking to a long lost friend, bare feet are helpful. They remind us that the ground on which we stand is holy. It was way back when. It remains so today.

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