Lose the Shoes

I am just so much more aware of my feet when I'm here at the cottage. It's the first thing I do - take off my shoes. And while certain activities like going into town, and blueberry picking might require appropriate footwear, for the most part I like to be barefoot as much as I possibly can.

Let me dangle them in the water at the end of the dock. Let me stand on the rock at the end of the day and sole-soak, soul-soak the radiant heat from the day. Let me poke them out from the covers on a hot night and feel the breeze from the water wash them cool.

Not surprisingly, I take better care of my feet when I'm here. Partly because they're far more visible and therefore in need of some help to be presentable. And partly because while I'm here..... I can. Just soak and buff and rub my feet with coconut buttery goodness, out on the deck, music playing, sun shining, curious chipmunks coming by to look up at me with questioning faces, and peer inside my pail to see what's going on.

It's the luxury of taking care of two parts of me that carry the full weight of responsibility in transporting the rest of my body around all the rest of the year. It's the gift of having that little bit of time to just look after me.

But mostly it just feels good to lose the shoes. Maybe because, for me, this is holy ground.

It was God's instruction to Moses. It's a practice still followed my Muslims before entering a mosque. There's a symbolism in the removing of shoes in order to prepare to meet with God.

And that's so very true for me here too. This is a Meeting Place of Holy Things for me. Quiet hushes of His whispers to my neediness. Comfort for the wounds sustained. Gentle rebuke for what needs course correction. Joy and delight in just sharing this time together.

So maybe, in defernce, in hopefness, I lose the shoes. And in gratitude receive the water, wind and rock with reverence, and gladness, and an anticipation of the Holy.
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