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!

 One of man’s earliest invention is still one of our most useful. The bowl.

The internet claims the oldest bowl on record is 20,000 years old. You probably don’t have the most expensive bowl in the world. Unless you’re the guy who, in 2017, bought a 900-year-old Chinese bowl sold on auction for $38 million. 

 

Typical bowls are much less costly and are also quite convenient. The same bowl can be used to hold both hot soup and cold ice cream. They hold salads, cereals, and spare change. Meals you normally put on a plate can also go in a bowl, but usually not the other way around. You need bowls for mixing and baking and for preventing your pet’s food from spreading all over the floor. I can’t make grandma’s famous meatballs without a bowl. Plunging my hands into the cold, wet, gooey mixture of meat, eggs, bread, cheese, and onions is as satisfying as making mud pies as a child. Only the meatballs are exponentially tastier. It’s a lot harder to mix meatballs on a plate. 

 

As a kid, we had a mammoth plastic Tupperware bowl that held enough popcorn for a double feature. I wish I still had that bowl. I have two porcelain bowls from Kazakhstan containing a collection of seashells gathered from the Caspian Sea. Seated on an adjacent bookcase, is wooden bowl from Mozambique. I like these bowls, but the two bowls I value the most are in the kitchen. They live on a high shelf above the sink. They peer out at me from behind glass cabinet doors. They’re pretty old. Not 20,000 years old, but maybe 75 to 80. And they remind me of my family because they were my grandma’s. They’re cream colored and are adorned with a viny band of orange flowers. A prolific painter, I wonder if my grandma added the decorations herself.  

 

My dad said they came from a bakery in Buffalo, NY back when breads and rolls were delivered to your door. I guess if you ordered enough focaccia and sourdough, the bakery threw in a set of bowls. Life has come full circle now that we can get our groceries and meals dropped off on our doorsteps, like coffeecakes, milk, and ice in the ‘40s. Although, Grubhub and Instacart don’t add in a set of bowls. 

 

I wonder how many pounds of pasta those bowls have held over the years. And at Thanksgiving, how many servings of stuffing and mountains of mashed potatoes did they deliver to the dining room table.

 

Ah Thanksgiving. Our beloved day of voicing our gratitude for our good things, for all times that God has filled the bowls of our hearts. Giving thanks is a righteous and sacred movement of the heart. 

 

When I think of blessings, and the abundance in which they come, I’m reminded of a Bible miracle story that marked the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry. It happened at a wedding in which the host had run out of wine. Nearby there were six bowls (Ok, giant jars or cisterns, but I’m writing about bowls, so work with me). They each held 20 to 30 gallons of water. A standard wine barrel of today holds 60 gallons. So, picture the equivalent of two or three barrels of water. Jesus changed the water into wine, thus saving the reputation of the host. I don’t know the wedding’s head count, but I’m guessing that 120-180 gallons of wine bordered on abundant. And Jesus didn’t produce the cheap stuff. His wine doesn’t come in a box or go on sale at Von’s. His wine earns 97 points, rivals what’s made in Napa, and is served at Michelin-rated restaurants. 

 

Do you equate your blessings with such abundance? I look around and feel as if the bowls of my heart are full of such blessings. It’s a 120-gallons-of-wine time of life. My family members are all healthy. There’s Beautiful Karla, her kids, and her extended family. I have a stable job and a gaggle of encouraging friends. Nearly all parts of my body are in working order, though some are in steady decline.

 

Many times the Bible says to give thanks, but one verse comes with a twist. It exhorts to give thanks … In All Circumstances. It’s hard to skirt around the word “all”. I bet it doesn’t just mean the good, joyous, prosperous times of life. And if that’s the case, “all” must therefore include the difficult, sad, arid, painful times of life.

 

The times when it feels as if the wine barrels have run dry. When the bowls of your heart hold nothing but dust. Are you currently experiencing a season such as this? Is it hard to give thanks? 

 

I can relate.

 

I find that I’m profoundly talented at giving thanks for hardships … after they’re over. When the storm has passed and the rainbow glows. When the seas have calmed, and my boat has reached the shore. When the tunnel is in the rear-view mirror. When it seems like the spigot of blessings from heaven has reopened and my bowls are filling again.

 

This is usually because there was “blessing in disguise” situation going on. There was a lesson learned, an ah-ha moment. That whole hindsight is 20-20 thing. All things happen for a reason, as the saying goes. But how did I respond amid the hardship? Did I count it all joy or was I worried? Did I trust or get frustrated? Was I compassionate and gentle or angry? Did I doubt God’s goodness?

 

Giving thanks in ALL circumstances doesn’t flow as freely. But I don’t think God’s blessings are a hot and cold, off and on, arrangement. Will the bowls of my heart spring a leak if a hardship arrives tomorrow? Or will I see that nobody moved the 120 gallons of new wine?

 

At the end of his public ministry, a few hours before suffering a torturous death, Jesus took a bowl of water and humbly washed the feet of his friends. He then took some bread, dipped it a bowl of wine …

 

And gave thanks. 

 

A few feet from the cross he was able to give thanks. Once he left that upper room, abandonment, humiliation, extreme pain, and death were waiting. And he gave thanks.

 

That’s pretty much the epitome of an “In All Circumstances” moment.

 

He gave thanks. I see there’s a lot to learn from those three words.

 

I hope your Thanksgiving is blessed. Eat, drink, laugh, and rest. These too are sacred movements. And may the bowls of your heart overflow with gratitude today and in all the days to come.

Grandma's bowls

 

Love in the Time of Covid

“Tell me that the world's been spinning since the beginning,

And everything will be alright”

--P!nk

Their wedding was one of the first in a season of life that saw more rented tuxedos than games in a baseball season. My dear friends, Ed and Teri, threw a very memorable wedding. Not just because I was a groomsman, but also because their ceremony landed on the Saturday of the Final Four. Michigan’s Fab Five was playing Kentucky with hopes of returning to the national championship game. The bridesmaid with which I paired didn’t dance due to denominational restrictions, so I was able to spend much of the reception watching the game in the hotel cantina.

 

Michigan won in time for me to make it back on the dance floor for the garter toss.

 

Last month I met up with Ed and Teri at another wedding, that of their lovely daughter, Jerilyn. The ceremony was outside, on an ocean-view golf course in San Clemente. Upon arrival, Beautiful Karla and I quickly spotted the bride, off to the side, making last-minute gown and makeup adjustments. Heading to our seats, we found Teri, looking as calm and splendid as any mother of the bride could possibly be.

 

But where was Ed? Then the significance of the moment hit me like a five iron to the forehead. He had a job. He was going to be walking the bride down the aisle. He’s the first of my friends to have this honor. I had moved into a new wedding-attendance category. I wasn’t attending as a friend of the bride or groom; I was there as a friend of the … parents.

 

Mid-September will be the 18-month mark since our lives came to a screeching halt thanks to Covid-19. Here in sunny southern California, we’ve been locked down, opened, closed again, and reopened with restrictions. We were even granted a whole month without having to wear a mask indoors.

 

The effect the disease has had on lives around the globe has been profoundly tragic. The loss of life has been monumental. The economic impact has been equally staggering. Meanwhile, riots raged across the country from Seattle’s Capitol Hill to the Capitol Building in Washington, DC. Political tension ruled the land. And fires, floods, hurricanes, and earthquakes didn’t take a hiatus for the pandemic. Sometimes it seems as if the bad news is as consistent as the tides.

 

And yet the Earth kept spinning amid all the tragedy, and good things continued to happen. Beautiful things.

Sunrises and sunsets appeared in painted precision.

Planted seeds sprouted and bore fruit.

Somewhere, not here, a proportionate amount of rain nurtured the land.

Babies were born.

People ran errands for their neighbors.

The folks on our street met for church on the curb.

Medical professionals gave full measures of devotion and care for the sick.

I learned how to use Google Classroom.

And couples fell in love.

 

Couples like Kirk and Jerilyn.

 

Dating and relationships are seldom easy outside the scope of a pandemic. I couldn’t imagine what navigating young love was like in 2020. Kirk and Jerilyn met late in 2019 in Colorado. They struggled to find time to be together while juggling full college course loads and part-time jobs. In February 2020, their school sent everybody home. If Jerilyn were to return to California, it would mean their budding relationship would go the long-distance route.

 

Wanting to avoid a setback, they opted for almost the shortest-distance relationship as possible. Kirk moved home with his folks and Jerilyn settled in with Kirk’s sister, who lived two houses away. Then the world shutdown. The young couple, no longer trying to squeeze out a few precious hours to hang out, now had an abundance of time to get to know each other. They cooked, hiked, watched movies, and studied together.

 

Suddenly their relationship was able to grow at a super-sonic speed. All that time together gave them insights into each other that hadn’t been discovered yet. The lockdown also gave them time to rapidly discover their values and priorities. On the flip side, Covid also provided instant access to the sides of themselves that the other hadn’t seen before.

 

They initially planned on dating for three years, but time is short during a global pandemic. Three years became 10 months. Then came the challenge of planning a wedding during Covid. 

Would their venue of choice be available? Would they be able to keep their guest list intact? Ever-changing state regulations and mandates kept them guessing.

 

Thankfully, their wedding occurred as planned. It was gorgeous, joyous, and a real summer treat. Jerilyn, who I love like a niece, was radiant. It was wonderful to meet the ruggedly handsome Kirk. He was strong enough to pummel linebackers and tender enough to care for his bride’s heart. And since it was summer, there wasn’t a conflict with March Madness.

 

Oh, by the way, Cupid struck again in 2020. One of my most esteemed friends, after waiting for decades, found his one true love during Covid. His ceremony is next month. Beautiful Karla and I will be there, back in our places as guests of the groom.

 

Who knows what will be taking place on the Covid timeline in six weeks when his wedding day arrives. We might be reading about the next Greek-lettered variant. I might be teaching from home again. But on that night in October, I’ll be remembering that the earth is still spinning, the sun is still shinning, beautiful things are still happening, and my Father in heaven is still sovereign.

 

And I’ll do my best to not check any baseball scores.