Mateus' Christmas Shoes

Kids' shoes outside the door of our dining hall in the
Melanie Center 2 orphanage in Mozambique. 

Often we make a big deal out of life’s firsts. Initial steps, words, and birthdays. 

Pro baseball players keep the ball from their first hit. We remember our first car and our first house. Most of us can probably give date, time, and location of our first kiss. 

Memorable premieres for me include my first games at both Fenway Park and Wrigley Field. My first plane ride was a high-school trip to Florida. I’m still waiting for the Lions to arrive in their first Super Bowl. 

What I don’t remember is my first pair of shoes. I’ve never been a big shoe hound or sneakerhead. I do like my shoes, mind you, but I’m no Imelda Marcos. I have different shoes for hiking and kickboxing. I have separate pairs for working and for walking the neighborhood with Beautiful Karla. A single pair of shiny black dress shoes have sufficed for two decades. In high school, Top Siders and penny loafers were in. 

A lot of people buy up shoes as if they were rolls of toilet paper in a pandemic. Shoe collecting has its own subculture. It’s a big business. Online retailer StockX sold $1.8 billion in 2020, predominantly in sneakers. Did you know that Dorothy’s original Ruby Reds recently sold for $660,000? Those slippers are nothing but a down payment on the $17 million Passion Diamond Shoe, the world most expensive piece of footwear. Pretty sure you won’t find it on zappos.com. 

Shoes take on a whole new meaning in places like Mozambique. I’ve been helping my church support two orphanages in Mozambique for the past seven years. I’ve gone to Moz (as we call it) three times, visiting the children and seeing my friends who live there. I bet that most people in rural Mozambique have but one pair of shoes, two if they’re lucky. 

Our outposts in Moz are run by the husband-and-wife pastor duo, John and Maria Jone. Recently, John and Maria met a group of five siblings, ages 4 to 14. Their mother had died shortly after the birth of the youngest. The status of their father is unknown. The oldest of the five, Gabriel, became the caretaker of his four siblings. He worked in his community trying to scrape up enough money for food. The social services department got wind of these five and contacted the Jones. John and Maria visited them and instantly agreed to take them in. They were given clothes and shoes. They now sleep in beds and get to go to school, both for the first time. They eat several times a day. They have time to be kids without the worry of the wheres, whens, and whats of every next meal. 

One day, Maria was observing Mateus, who at 8-years-old is the middle child in the quintuplet. He was repeatedly taking off his shoes and putting them back on. She watched him do this over and over for a few hours. Eventually, she asked him why he was doing this, thinking he was going to say that the shoes hurt his feet or that he didn’t want to get them dirty. But his reply was so endearing. 

“I just want to look at them.” 

His very first pair of shoes, were to him, a sight to behold. He was given a gift he couldn’t take his eyes off. 

Our daily lives are filled with gifts, but sometimes we miss them. And if we do notice them, do we, like Mateus, stop to stare? Behold them. Drink them in. 

 The helpfulness of a coworker. 

 The kindness of a stranger. 

 Sunsets. 

 Watching a bird munching seeds from a feeder. 

A well-timed text from a friend. 

Rain. 

More often, I need to stop and stare at all the gifts that make my cushy American life so comfortable. Maybe then I’d find it easier to sit in traffic, stand in long lines at the market, and wear a mask in my classroom. 

Last Friday was the final day of school before winter break. Gifts abounded. It was exciting to give and receive. At recess, hiding in my mailbox, I found an unexpected gift from a colleague. It was so surprising that it made my day. It was just a book, but it might of well have been the Passion Diamond Shoe. The gesture created such joy. Stopping to look at the book, long after it’s been read, will always remind me of that moment. 

Now days later, I think the happiness stemmed from the fact the giver thought highly enough of me to buy a present. 

I wonder if that’s how Mateus felt. Christmas, we know, started with a gift. The birth of Jesus. God’s gift to mankind. The eternal and holy God thought so highly of his creation that he sent his Son to us. 

“For God so loved the world …” as the famous verse begins. 

Typically, we don’t give gifts to strangers or people on our “You really bug me” list. But God did. Not that He has a “You really bug me” list, but he does have a “You don’t know me” list. Jesus was given so that we could know God.

“God and sinners reconciled,” as the harkening angels sing.

 

Are you heading out tonight? Church service? Special dinner with family or friends? Maybe you’re staying in. In either case, look down. Peek at your shoes. And remember your blessings. And the most beautiful gift of all. 

A baby in a manger. Worshipped by shepherds. Visited by kings. 

 Merry Christmas!