One Brown Shoe, One Black Shoe

Years ago, before children, well, not before children as a whole, but before I had my own children, I was a hair stylist. I told you I was a Jill of All Trades (read my profile). I went to "beauty school" while attending college, yes, I did both at the same time...multi-tasking at its best. As a young child I always loved brushing my daddy's hair...what he had of it...and setting my mother's hair in rollers and backcombing to my hearts content...you don't get in trouble for pulling your mother's hair and what a stress reliever. So, for me to attend "beauty school" was not unusual at all.

The start of it all was a beauty shop doll. As I remember it, there were lots of rollers, clippies, combs, brushes, scissors, perm rods,....no wait, maybe that was my beauty school kit that still sits in my attic, but anyway, that doll was the beginning of my hair styling love.

You may wonder what all this has to do with one brown shoe and one black shoe, but it does. When working as a hairstylist, you are in personal contact with lots of people. Patrons feel so comfortable that they share their deepest, darkest secrets. What is said in a hair stylist's chair stays in that chair! Have you ever thought about what you share with your hairstylist? I shed tears, shared laughter, and shampooed my way into the lives of so many during those years.

It is only one time of laughter that I will share with you because he laughed at himself. A very prim and proper man came to me about once a month for a trim. He didn't have a lot of hair so to cut it rather than trim it was quite a concern, but he trusted me. Don't you trust your hair stylist?

As he sat down in the shampoo chair and I raised his feet, I thought it funny and so did he, when he noticed that he had on one brown shoe and one black shoe...just the same in every way, except. He let out a little chuckle, this prim and proper man, to think that he had been wearing different colored shoes all day...during important business meetings...not even to notice until now. How many had laughed behind his back? How many had been made to feel at ease that he was not so prim and proper?

I think of him when I do something embarrassing or out of the ordinary or when your laughter could be at my expense...

I am spending this week in a very south Texas town and that means hot, hot, hot! My hard-working, steel toe shoe wearing, world traveling husband is here on business, so I packed my bags and came along. A big concern for me when I travel is always the water...not the drinking kind, although in some places that could be a concern...but the showering kind of water. Will my hair be soft or will it be dry? Remember, I am a hair stylist at heart and my hair matters! My hair depends on the water. Will there be lots of water pressure or just a trickle of water coming from the shower head?

I came prepared with all of my hair products neatly packaged in different colored travel-sized bottles. I placed them in the shower ready to work magic with whatever the water type or amount of water pressure. With my hair wet and ready for shampoo, I reached for the brown shoe turquoise bottle and squirted the proper amount of purple liquid into the palm of my hand, applying it to my hair. There were no bubbles! Really hard water! or would that be soft water? It had to be the water!

Wait a minute! My shampoo is a turquoise liquid that must be in the black shoe purple bottle that is sitting on the counter...not in the shower...my very expensive hair styling product is a purple liquid that must be in the brown shoe turquoise bottle. I should have color coordinated better!

My body wash and conditioner are the same color in clear bottles. Did I wash with my conditioner and condition with my body wash? I think I need to get this all straight before I step in the shower tomorrow!

If the shoe fits, wear it well!

Rocks in My Pockets Shoe

By the end of the day yesterday, my heel felt as though I had a rock in my pocket shoe all day....a large, rugged, rough, ugly rock!



I'm not sure what caused it because I had worn flip flops all day, but a "rock stone bruise" just the same. With every step I was reminded of the pain!

Yesterday evening, my hardworking, steel toe boot wearing, world traveling husband returned home from a business trip to New Orleans...sometimes his travels take him a short distance rather than around the world...to find me complaining. I was so absorbed in my pain as I prepared a simple dinner for him that I was negligent in showing how much I appreciated the gift that he brought to me. When I saw the bag, I knew what it was, didn't even open it completely...just peeped into the top of the small velveteen pouch and sat it on the kitchen table.



I continued on with my stirring, seasoning, and steaming of an array of fresh vegetables...my favorites. We were having a vegetable plate for dinner...not what a man, especially a hardworking one, calls the best of meals...where's the beef? Did he demand that I do it his way? Not at all. Did I choose to do it his way? I really don't want to answer that!

I turned away from my busy-ness to see my sweet husband gently pouring the contents of the small velveteen pouch on the kitchen table.



I understood his thoughts as he separated and admired each stone...



and how pretty they would be in the birdbath...



He knew just what I would do with them. He saw the beauty and waited patiently for me to acknowledge and thank him for his gift.

For some reason I was reminded of the rock cross in my pocket shoe wallet that my daddy gave to me years ago as a daily reminder of God's gift.



God saw the beauty in His gift...His Son, Jesus.

God waited patiently for me to acknowledge and accept His gift.

God deserves my heart-felt thankfulness.

How often does He wait patiently for me to thank Him for His beautiful gift? Am I so busy doing work for Him my way that I neglect His will? Am I so absorbed in myself that I forget to acknowledge His presence in my life?

A rock...

A stone...

A cross...

Maybe the next time I feel as though there has been a rock in my pocket shoe, I will call it a "stone cross bruise" and thank God for His Son.

If the shoe fits, wear it well!