What I Learned From Anny's Old Shoes

When Anny Clapp was a little girl--I hope this doesn’t make me look like a bad mother-- she had black patent leather shoes that she loved, loved, loved. She wore them all the time. One day I realized that they were way too small for her and had been for some time. 

She put up with them because she had no idea that we could just run down to Ames and get her new ones. Her toes were cramped and couldn’t grow because of those ratty old shoes.  

Allow me to mix my metaphors.

Lately, my life has been closed doors. I wanted to do that. The door closed. I wanted to try this. The door closed and locked. I wanted to be there. The door slammed. I wanted to go here . . . you get the picture.
Could it be that God is closing all those doors because I am still wearing those worn- out, too- small, shoes? He might have newer, bigger, and flashier shoes waiting for me if I would just bring myself to take off the old ones. I don’t know what He has in mind just like Anny didn’t know I’d buy her a new pair of shoes.  

My patent leather shoes could be a habit I need to break.  A rut I’m in. A fear of saying, “Well, I’ll try it but I never did it that way before.” My binding old shoes could be the idea that because I’m 57 I’m too old a dog to move into something new.

But Anny’s feet couldn’t grow if I left her in the old shoes. Maybe I can’t grow until I allow God to throw out the old shoes and give me new ones.