Grace and the Golden Shoes

I retired a pair of shoes recently. I remember buying these particular shoes because they were too expensive, in my estimation, but, also, too pretty to pass up. They were flip flops goldflower2on a wedge heel decorated with tiny leather flowers, each embossed with gold. I adored them. You may be asking, “Why is she telling us this?” Who cares that she retired a pair of shoes?” I tell you this because there was an incident involving these shoes that brought out a side of me I’m ashamed of and as I picked those faded gold flowers off of them, I was reminded of it.

My daughter couldn’t have been more than four. She was such a beautiful child, springy head of blonde curls and blue eyes with an upturned nose. She was always happy to see me and generous with her affection. On this particular day, she bounded toward me angel-1009342_1280having made something for me—a card or picture. My gaze turned from approval to displeasure, as it surveyed the offering and fell on the gold flower she had plucked from my “too expensive in my estimation” shoe. My memory’s a bit fuzzy after that because I was possessed. I probably wailed some. I tried to stick the gold flower back on the shoe with no success. I scolded her. I’m sure I mentioned the cost of the newly defrocked item, as if a four-year-old would understand the significance of it. She was tearful. I was fuming.

I wish I could alter this memory. I wish I could go back in time and take her in my arms, congratulating her for her creativity and resourcefulness and admiring her work, but I goldheart2can’t. It was an instance where I valued a thing more than a relationship, a shoe more than my innocent little girl’s heart. I knew this, at the time, and was torn up inside, but was still too immature to downplay my true feelings. Thank God there’s grace. This was a minor incident; neither one of us was irreparably damaged. I’ve told this story since and we’ve laughed about it. My daughter is still making me things. I keep a special Mother’s Day gift she made me a few years back on my bedside table. I may have to add a gold flower to it. 🙂


Complete the experience. Listen to Laura Story’s Grace.


Got Love?

Love makes the world go round and sometimes it makes me want to hurl.

I was recently thinking about what an amazing life I have and, as I tallied up the reasons, it became clear to me that it’s largely due to one thing; love. I’m loved. My parents, from chelsea-bock-65622a young age, taught me that God, my maker and sustainer, loves me with a passionate, unchanging, undying love.
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On Insecurity

I’m insecure. I can hear it dribble out sometimes when I talk, like when you’ve come from the dentist and the freezing hasn’t subsided yet and you don’t know you’re drooling until you feel it on your chin. I catch myself trying to puff myself up ever so subtly and cringe on the inside. Why do I need to do that? I notice others doing it and say in my head, “that person is insecure just like me”. Usually, knowing that you’re not alone makes a person feel better, but I don’t in this case. It speaks to some lack in my relationship with God. Rather than being rooted firmly in the love he has for me and resting there, I’m anxious, eager for glances and superficial flattery from people I hardly know.
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A Post on Friends

I’ve moved 22 times. I’ve lived in Madison, South Dakota, Calgary, Alberta in two separate stints, Sterling Heights, Michigan, Bismarck, North Dakota, Edmonton, Alberta, and Lethbridge, Alberta. This includes moving between abodes in the same city. I’ve lived in houses owned, rented and those of relatives, a condo, a few apartments, a college dorm, and rooms in two gracious pastor’s basements. I moved five times in the first 14 years of my life, across country, once by train, mostly by car. All this moving has shaped me, especially in my ability to form relationships, an essential skill for a meaningful, happy life.
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