Dearly beloved–let us beware! There is a Shoe Salesman among us!

So I work in a shoe store. Quiet, and unpretentious, I do little more than get the boxes off the top shelf, match mates up from our back storage room, and ring up sales. Tada! That is about it. Recently however, thanks to two specific events, I have realized that there might be more spiritually involved matters at work in my mild mannered day job. Perhaps I should explain.

The first event happened a short time ago, just about an hour before closing. The day had been like many others. A slow but steady stream of customers had paraded through the store making average sized purchases–leaving the day quite unremarkable. The last hour and a half before closing is when the store undoubtedly becomes busy. Everyone, having had time to go home from work, eat a bite, yell at the husband and/or kids (and most likely the dog or cat) change clothes, hit the stores to try and “relax with some shopping.” Truthfully, there isn’t much to do in Shelbyville, Indiana after 6:30 p.m… so that does send people to the stores.

On this night however, the usual rush of people had not begun. In fact, the store had been entirely too empty. “Eh–” I thought to myself, “Probably a carnival is going on or something. If they haven’t arrived yet, it’s going to be a long hour and a half till closing.”

Just about then the door opened and a quiet, cluster of Amish teen girls, all drab in their muted home-stitched dresses and dark bonnets, entered the store. Like a coven, bound by solemn secrets best left alone, they moved as one through the aisles, barely acknowledging my cheerful “Hello” with the faintest of nods.

I usually let the customers browse a bit before asking if they need any assistance. With these girls, I thought that perhaps I might just need to leave well enough alone. What sort of remorseful prayers might they need to utter for having a conversation with a blatantly bald-headed heathen such as myself? Let’s not forget I have an ear pierced. I am sure that puts me with at least both feet firmly planted in Hades.

Minutes dragged by, and the Grunge Navy, Farmer Brown, Dull-Black cluster had disappeared into the farthest corner of the store. Suddenly, I heard a small faint sound that was remarkably like a giggle. “Surely not!” I thought to myself, “they can’t be actually having fun!” Then there was another. It was joined by a few more, and slightly louder this time.

Then I glanced around the store and realized–there were no adults there. Amish or not, teenagers are teenagers. An idea began to form, and I quietly began to make my way towards the back–careful to not be seen in any of the mirrors that we have all over the store. I reached the end of the aisle, and paused. Yes–teenage girls were having a good time around the corner, and this I had to see.

Stepping around the corner I loudly asked “Can I help you ladies find anything?” Before me was a scene I hope to remember to my dying day. These girls were trying on SHOES! Not the sensible all black Nikes® with soles so thick they would last from now till these girls had raised three kids. Patent leather sling-backs, candy red six-inch heels, and sequined open-toed kitty pumps all were being reveled in as only a girlish heart can enjoy.

It was their faces, though, that caught me. Happy, laughing, silly, but mostly… free. They immediately changed to shock, surprise, and oh-so-embarrassed. Their jaws seemed to hit the floor in unison. One of them managed to mumble a “We are fine thank you,” while whipping the strappy black heels from her feet and into a box as though nothing happening in the aisle was worth noting. I nodded my head and went back to the front. Moments later a few Amish boys, and several mothers entered the store. The group looked around, purchased a few remarkably sensible shoes, and left into the evening without hardly speaking to each other.

I felt a strange mixture of joy and sadness. Joy in that, no matter how we are raised, people are people–kids are kids–and fun is still fun. The sadness was due to the fact that those girls were so bound by tradition they were ashamed to do what any teenage girl would do without thinking twice. Fearful lest they “be caught” for displaying worldliness. I wanted to yell after them “I love Jesus too! It’s okay to enjoy these things. You won’t go to hell for wearing colors–OR HEELS!” I didn’t though. I knew better. Still, I wanted to make it up to them somehow.

Shortly after that, on a blazing afternoon, a few “holiness” girls came in. Now to be fair, I do not know what their religious affiliation is–I call a certain look “holiness,” and you know who I mean. The kind that the ladies either have curly, permed hair that flows down past their waist, bouncing when they walk, or piled high in a bun as though to point their souls to God. Denim, khaki, or some other dignified skirt plunging down to cover all but just their toes, and their faces–do you ever notice that when they walk they are always pointed down? It’s as if they are so enveloped in their humility that they cannot lift their eyes except when they are being directly spoken to!

I realize I just painted an unfair caricature … still, you get the point of who I am talking about. At any rate, two sisters came into the store. They politely declined my assistance and began to shop for themselves. There is one remarkable thing about this type of women–they have no fear of heels. The higher the better it seems. I have never been certain if it was because the length of their skirts forced them to wear them, or if they feel it makes them closer to God.

The “holy” sisters stood for some time looking at the tennis shoes. I made a guess at what they would select: the Reebok® in a pale gray and demure pink. Soft and lady-like, this model has the perfect support for kickball with the youth group and the comfort for long prayer walks. Do I know how to sell shoes or what? Imagine then my shock as they (without looking me in the face mind you) each brought up a pair Levi’s®! These canvas shoes with tattoo inspired decals were a staple for any rocker chick. The Ed Hardy®-esque graphics were bold, swirling, and colorful, almost demanding you grab a mic and scream to head-banging crowds before you!

They took their purchases, and with a demure, “Thank you have a nice day,” left the store. I watched them walk across the parking lot, their eyes contritely pointing down to the pavement, and I realized–the only part of those shoes that would be seen was the white rubber toes peaking out from their denim skirts. The others couldn’t see them, but the girls knew they were there!

I felt–elated! Overjoyed! Ecstatic! I helped bring some freedom! Suddenly I wanted to go on a mission: Freedom of shoe choice to all repressed people!

Okay, let me make this point: It’s not that I am actually interested in corrupting young people from the teachings of their faith. I am not personally promoting the idea that teenage daughters should rebel against the authorities in their lives. Nor am I trying to feed worldliness to God-fearing hearts.

I have simply found so much freedom and peace in my life that I want to share it with all the bent, piously twisted, repressed-from-the-simple-joys-of-life people. I want them to fully know that, while those stilettos might torture your feet, your soul will not be tortured for wearing them! Chains come in all sizes and materials, but none are more entangling than those of misplaced legality of religious traditions.

Christ came to set us free–and with it comes an interesting fact: Shoes, like many things, are simply going to burn to dust one day. They will not last for long–no matter how much you love and care for them. Our attention SHOULD be on the One who makes all things, leading and guiding us closer to Him. If, along your journey, you feel like strapping on rainbow-colored Chuck Taylors®, that is just a detail that you can thank God for the simple little pleasure of enjoying.

Having said that, beware, all you letter-of-the-law-enforcing-people: if your daughters come into my store and I see that certain gleam in their eye when they look at a shoe, I will be happy to point out that it is on sale.