Coffee For Shoes

Lately, especially, I've been quick to welcome any upbeat story I can get my head around. Soothes the soul and all that. Then I remembered that I forgot (yeah, that's a constant state in my mental world): I had one to tell!

Here's the picture that sums it up.

Say what?

Here's the four critical plot pieces you need to know: 

1. I'm thrifty. 
2. I work out 3-4 times a week. Hard. It's part of my machine, and I need good shoes to do it.
3. The shoes were expensive. (See #1)
4. I lost said shoes somewhere in the Y.

My Teva's retail at 120 bucks. Didn't buy 'em for that: I'd rather grow yucca trees and craft my own rubber soles than shell out that kind of dough. Instead, I ordered them online during what was probably a 10-minute window of opportunity. I paid $20. Free shipping. Swish.

Really like them shoes. But apparently they don't trump my inherent propensity to forget anything that's not actually attached to my body in some fashion. So far, my children are the only exception. (Cross fingers here and wink). So, just before Christmas, I worked out. Just after the holiday, I realized I didn't have my shoes: frenzied search commence. When I didn't find them in the digging of the lost and found - which, by the way, was a fairly nasty experience I neither recommend nor wish to repeat anytime soon...here's to hoping the heart-covered bikini bottoms and car keys with the "Born to Sex You" keychain DON'T belong to the same person - word got out with the staff that Candice lost her shoes.

Now, I have relationship with Y people. Been going for 6 years. They're all good. And God plants us where He means us to grow, so I value them. Talk to them. Listen to them. Call them by name. Relationship, right? Well, I sure got blessed back this time. Jill, a childcare worker who took care first of Elijah as a tot and now Judsen, was so upset for me. Genuinely upset! She took it upon herself to search that Y high and low, unbeknowst to me. A few days later, I'm checking Judsen in, and I see a bag appear before my eyes. I look up to catch her sly grin, but I say nothing. I look inside. And you can surely guess what I find.

Now, losing my shoes mattered to me. They represent the work I do that's a part of my machine. They represent my efforts to reduce expense in our home, regardless of needs. ("Thrifty" is rarely about money, you now). Yet, what strikes me more than any on this list is that losing my shoes mattered to Jill. Her heart was one of concern, observation beyond the obvious, and an honest desire to serve a friend. What a gem.

I hugged her. Lots. Thanked her. Lots. Then I wrote her a letter of appreciation and value and bought her a Starbucks gift card. Coffee for shoes seemed right somehow: the pairing of an essential with a luxury.

Rather like pairing a need with a friend.