Polished Shoes

Years ago I watched a friend polish shoes. He prayed over each one as he polished it to shine like a new pair. He picked up one shoe and vigorously brushed the dirt off of it, while he prayed for God to forgive its owner of the sins he had committed. When he applied the polish, his prayers reflected the thankfulness of the shoe’s owner being clothed in righteousness through Jesus’ death and resurrection. When he buffed in the brilliant shine, he prayed that the shoe’s owner would let his life shine before men and draw them to Christ.

My friend clearly desired to see the owner’s life count for something more than the average person. He desired to see the man’s life filled with such joy that it spilled over into the lives of everyone he met. My friend desired to see a miracle as he polished each shoe and he was adamant about it happening.

His enthusiasm was contagious and I wanted to help him polish the remaining shoes. He had gathered five pairs and blessed each owner through his prayers. I figured that I could help with at least one pair, but my friend would not allow me to participate. Oh, he wasn’t being selfish, but rather instructive. He wanted me to watch closely everything he did and the motivation behind it all. He wanted me to watch a miracle unfold before my eyes.

I have to admit that I didn’t understand what the miracle would be. Certainly I understood his good intensions and appreciated his kind act of service for the family he was helping, but I couldn’t grasp the seeds being planted that would grow into a miracle. So, I sat and observed the best I could.

When the last shoe was completed, my friend told me he had to deliver them back to the house. After seeing the curious look on my face, he explained that a family in town lost their father in an accident and he had polished their shoes for them. My only response was, “what?”

My friend told me that when someone dies in a family, no one has the energy or the forethought to polish their shoes for the funeral, yet each person during the funeral finds themselves in the middle of it, wanting to be their best for their loved one. Depression hits some as they realize their shortfalls, but those who are wearing my friend’s polished works of art, feel nothing but love during one of the most painful time of their lives.

Two days later, I stood with my friend at the wake and listened to many share their condolences with the family. Each one offered to help in anyway they could, all it took was for the family to let them know what they would like done. The family graciously accepted the sentiment and returned a warm smile. Nothing further transpired.

When my friend and I made it through the receiving line, he was greeted with a warm hug like no other. The wife of the deceased shared that she still didn’t quite understand her husband’s relationship to my friend, but she was glad he was there for support. Her son quickly spoke up and asked if my friend would join him for coffee the next day, so he could learn more about the kind of servant leadership his father had tried to teach him about.

Two weeks after the funeral, I bumped into the woman and asked how things were going. She told me that the cards and flowers had all since faded and the family was alone to fend for themselves, with one exception. She told me how everyone paid her lip service about their willingness to help, but only my friend acted in love.

She shared about the day my friend showed up at her home. He politely asked for all the black dress shoes in the house and told her they would be returned polished the next morning. She was perplexed by the gesture, but wasn’t in the frame of mind to argue or negotiate. She just gave him the shoes.

A couple days later, when the reality of the funeral was upon them, the minister asked if they were prepared or had time to polish their shoes. The woman’s eyes moistened as she told the minister that the entire family’s shoes were polished like new. That night they were all able to focus on those coming through the receiving line at the wake without giving any thought to their attire.

She wasn’t sure how many dozens of people came through the line, but she did remember the one person who served them in love. She also told me that she now understood why faith without works is dead. She exclaimed as she got into her car, “Talk is cheap, but love in action penetrates any heart, no matter how trivial or relevant the humble service might seem.”

I had witnessed a miracle. I saw a young man desire to follow Christ. I saw a widow empowered to love others because she could now pass on what she had received. I also saw my heart change, as I realized that platitudes are shallow and loving actions are deeply endearing and life changing.

I headed home to see if I had any polish in my shoeshine kit.