A Pair of Work Boots

I wrote this last year after participating in Operation Care in Dallas, the largest Christmas Party in the nation for the homeless.   We give our guests clothes, sleeping bags, hot meals.  We wash their feet and give them brand new shoes and socks.  We pray for them, give them hair cuts, and a chance to call home.  We have a petting zoo for kiddos, facing painting, and entertainment.  All for free.  

 It is the most wonderful experience I have ever had living out God's love.    I have participated for the past two years in Footwashing.   People who know me know I hate feet, but I knew that was where I was supposed to work.   I signed up, and because I was obedient to the Spirit, God gave me the opportunity to be support staff, a problem solver.   I don't actually wash feet, but if a problem comes up for the footwashers.... I'm who they grab.  If I can't fix it, I go up the chain of command.    I'm good at it, and I love the opportunity to serve both our guests and the servants.   

I like that I get to truly DO Christmas.   I get to be Jesus.  I get to be His hands and feet.   I get to love on the people who most people avert their eyes and try not to see.   I get to SEE them with His eyes.   

This is my story......

My time spent yesterday at Operation Care Christmas Gift 2011 was as meaningful as it was last year.      This year God was all over the event just as He was last year.   Last year, I didn't write about it.  This year I will...

I met a man named Willie who was on 14 medications and was actually supposed to have reported to the hospital for heart surgery.  Instead he chose, in his words, "to chance it" because he needed a sleeping bag and some new shoes.  He said the hospital might be able to fix his heart, but he needed something to be able to walk around in and be warm in when he got out.   He had already had nine heart attacks.   He was feeling faint yesterday, dizzy, with left arm pain while standing in line for an hour to get shoes.   When I met him and found out his story, I gave him a place to sit.   He refused medical attention saying, "When you have had one heart attack, the next one ain't so scary."  He promised, pinky swore because I made him, that he would go to the hospital after the event.   His friends agreed that they would take him.  They were just as worried about him as I was.  

I met Rodney, a huge, giant of a man, who was frowning while waiting in the footwashing line.  When I walked up and asked what the frown was for, he told me that last year, he waited in the line for almost 2 hours, but after he had his feet washed and needs attended to, it was discovered that we were out of his size 17 shoes.  He lifted up a beat-up, battered tennis shoe-clad foot.  The sole was hanging off and missing in other places.  His sock was exposed.   He said, "I'm hoping you have some now.   These aren't so good.   Don't know if they'll make it another year."  While he waited in line, I went to where the shoes were, looking for his size.  There in the box marked 17 sat one pair of tennis shoes.  I gave them to the ticket taker and went back to Rodney.  When I told him that there was ONE pair of 17 and that I had them reserved for him, I have never seen such a smile.   He laughed such a huge belly laugh people stopped and stared.   The sound of it reminded me of the man from the old 7Up commercials except  his laugh went on and on.  I know my own face was mirroring his.    I waited in line beside him, until it was his turn, and gave him over to one of my close friends, Liz, who was washing feet.  I knew he would get the special treatment he deserved.

I also met John.  John had a pair of boots that the heel had broken off on.   John had on two pair of socks and  had stuffed a huge wad of toliet paper into his shoes.  You see, the nails from the bottom of his shoes had cut a hole into the bottom of his foot the size of a dime.  A bleeding, gaping, infected  dime.   He also had another puncture wound the size of a pencil.  He asked for a couple pair of extra socks.  He said with some socks and tennis shoes, he would be fine.   I had a nurse look at his foot, and we got him over to medical. 

I also had the pleasure of meeting Maffia.  I teased him about giving me a fake name, until he pulled out his old driver's license.   It was his last name, and we joked about a blond- haired man being Italian.   Maffia had been hit by a car while he was walking across the street and had a traumatic brain injury.  Any of you who know my family's story knows that my husband also suffered one from a car accident.  Maffia had held down a job for 15 years and had a house and wife and family.   He lost it all due to medical bills. His wife couldn't deal with the stress, divorced him, and moved to another state with their daughter to be closer to her family.  Maffia touched my heart greatly.  He had suffered from several strokes during his recovery and his left hand was drawn and he walked with a cane.   Just like my grandfather who had suffered a stroke did.     There but for the grace of God, go me and mine.

The one who still brings tears to my eyes and touched my heart the most I don't even know the name of.    I had just told Bill, my leader, that I was leaving for the day.  My husband was tired and ready to go.  I had already put him off twice and kept helping people, and I knew that he was getting irritated.

As I was literally turning to leave the area, a footwasher brought someone to me.   I wore a blue shirt, and that meant that if a volunteer had a problem, I was there to fix it.   She explained to me that the young Hispanic man who was with her needed work boots.   I explained we didn't have any work boots.  Only tennis shoes.   She said he had just gotten a new job and desperately needed work boots.   I explained again that we only had tennis shoes.   The man watched me intently throughout our exchange and I wondered if he spoke English.   He reached into this pocket and pulled out a bright, shiny new ID badge from a construction company.   He explained to me, in accented English, that he needed work boots for his job.   He had just gotten it last Monday, and they had given him a week to get work boots.   If he didn't have them by this Monday, he would be fired.   If he was fired, he wouldn't be able to stay at the place he had been staying.  He had to have boots, he said.    I explained that I understood, but we didn't have work boots.   He told me he had heard we did.   I told him I had been back there 9000 times today, and there were definitely no work boots.

 Then he showed me his shoes.  They were leather high-tops...light work boots, and they were in deplorable condition.  There were pieces missing from the side. A part of the heel was gone.  I could see why they weren't safe.   I pointed to my tennis shoes and told him we only had shoes like these.    He shook his head no, and repeated work boots.   I told him again, we only had tennis shoes.  He said that God told him there were work boots there for him.   Would I just go look?? I relented and looked.  High and low.   He wore a size ten.  We had five huge boxes of shoes for size 10.   I dug through them all.  NO work boots.   I asked my leader.   He said we didn't have any work boots, but that I might look in the donation pile.  You see, we only give away new shoes.  Not used.  Some people had donated used shoes though, and those shoes, while not given away at the event, are distributed later by another organization.

 I walked over to the box.  It was about three feet tall and full of shoes.  I dug and dug and dug.  On the very bottom was a single work boot.

My heart began to beat faster.  

I dug a bit more frantically.  

Could there really be another work boot in there?? Please, let there be, please... 

And there it was.

 With a pounding heart, I looked at the size.  Size 10.  The only pair of work boots in the 200,000 square feet of the convention center, and it was the perfect size. 

Of course, they were.  God had told him they would be. 

I almost ran back to him in my excitement.    As I showed them to him, and explained that they were used, not new, his eyes began to fill with tears.  Mine did too.  There shouldn't have been a pair of work boots there, but there were.   

They were there for him.  

If I had left earlier, he wouldn't have gotten them.   If he wouldn't have gotten them, he wouldn't have a job.   If he didn't have the job, he'd lose his spot at the mission.   I have no doubt that God has great things planned for that man.

Everything for a purpose, everything for a reason. 

  

There were so many others who I had the privilege of helping, but I'm crying too hard typing this.  I had to share this story while it was fresh and new.  I've had several people ask me  how can you go work there? How can you work with "those people?"  How can you volunteer? 

I ask, how can you not?   I got to see Jesus in those smiles.   The Bible says,  "What you do for the least of these, you do for me."  Not only did I get to see Him, I got to show people His love today. 

I got to be like Jesus.

Will I be back next year for 2012 Christmas Gift?  Just try and stop me.


*** If you're interested in volunteering you can check out their website for more information on ways to volunteer or ways to donate.  We always need jackets, kid-sized, toddler sized, adults.   We always need shoes and socks.   Money, of course, is always welcome.    We also would love to have you.  Check out the areas where you could help out, see if there is one that speaks to you.    This year the event is on December 15.  We would love to have your help!