One Red Shoe

It seems hard to believe today,
But there was a time when my son
Was the best-dressed child at church.
He had tiny red Gap shoes
That set off every outfit to perfection.

The University of Colorado felt dark.
Friends attended; friends worked there.
I went to prayer walk the campus.

Pregnant, I pushed my son in the stroller.
It was tiring. Hard to focus. Felt pointless.
I ended up not making the full several-mile
Loop, but caught the courtesy shuttle.

It was then that I noticed that one red shoe
Had gone missing.

I never tried again.
Was the missing shoe a spiritual attack?
It felt like it.
And, if so, it worked.

I hear Christians say that if you are not getting
Flak, you’re not in the battle.
But by nature I don’t like battle. At all.
I don’t like competition.
I prefer swim practice to swim meets.
I don’t even like games!
Let me watch charades, not act charades.

But does a missing, well-loved red shoe even count as battle?

Is this a confession?
Perhaps.

Some parts of my life feel pathetic.
This is one.