Shoes Of Compassion
Kelli clutched the letter received by mail just yesterday from her husband. Jim was in prison. She and Jim had been married nearly ten years; he had been a good husband to her and a loving Dad to their three children. She knew it was her dissatisfaction with what Jim could provide for the family that had driven him to embezzle his employer out of nearly a thousand dollars. When he realized he could not replace the money before an unexpected audit, Jim sold their wedding rings and took the money to his boss, admitting what he had done. The audit that followed revealed there was a much larger amount missing. Although Jim was not the only accountant for the company, he was charged with it all. The trial and restitution had cost them almost everything: their jobs, their home, their friends. and all that they were trying to own. About all that was left was Jim's old car and what clothes they could pack into it. Everything else had to be returned to their creditors. Now it was complete: the letter Kelli crumpled in her fist stated he wanted a divorce so she and the children could go on with their lives. As she stared at the letter, she felt the old anger return; anger that any success they had tasted was gone, anger that Jim wasn't willing to let her wait for him, anger that their friends had abandoned them, anger that life was so unfair, anger at herself for being so reckless with that which meant the most to her. She knew Jim was trying to release her from the problems they now faced, but even if it meant moving to another town, they could begin again, provided they were together. She realized she'd rather have her family together than anything they could ever own. She just had to get to him and persuade him not to do this. The prison was a full day's trip away. Jim had insisted that she not use the money she needed for bills to make trips to see him. Until now, they had written to each other every week; there was no money for a phone. All she knew to do was to try to coax the old car to make it. There was nowhere to leave the children--Jim's family lived in another state and laid full blame for what had happened on her. She couldn't blame them--it was her fault. She hadn't given Jim many moments of peace in her rush to project an image beyond their means. Still, if they could have just helped with the children--it would have meant a lot. But the only way they'd do that was if Kelli signed herself out of her children's lives. She would not do that. Kelli's parents had died when she was just a teenager; the aunt that took her in had moved to the west coast to be near her own children. The friends Kelli and Jim once had suddenly didn't know them any more when they were forced to move to the "lower-income" side of town. She really couldn't afford to make the trip: the rent was due in two weeks--but she just had to get to Jim. She bundled the children into the car just after dawn the next morning and started out. Early afternoon found them only two-thirds of the way to their destination. She dared not push the car too hard, stopping every fifty miles or so to check the radiator and let the children out of their seats. Angie, the seven-year old, had persuaded five-year old Jason and three-year old Karen to eat most of their hastily-packed sack lunch. Kelli's head was pounding by the time they arrived at the prison. Visiting hours had already started as she hurried the children into the crowded waiting room. Another half-hour passed before it was her turn to be escorted back to see Jim. As the iron bars slid by, she stepped toward them, only to be stopped by the guard. "Ma'am, I'm sorry, but you cannot go in. You have on open-backed shoes and they are not permitted." "What do you mean, I can't go in to see him? What? My shoes?" she repeated, stunned. Three hundred miles she'd traveled, only to be turned away because of her shoes?? Thoughts spun in her mind--surely this man did not understand. "I don't have any other shoes," she protested, putting her hand on his arm as he indicated she was to return to the visitor entrance area. "I'm sorry, Ma'am," he stated flatly, "those are the rules." "But I didn't know!" she continued to protest, but it did no good. The door clanged into place; he turned and walked away. The other visitors had heard the exchange. Kelli glanced around the room, not really seeing their faces. Some lady offered information about a store in the next town that might still be open. There was less than an hour left of visitation time. She did not know the area and there was no money for shoes. She would need every penny she had left just to buy gas and something for the children to eat on the trip back home. She motioned for the children to come with her. Just outside the gate, she sank to her knees, overcome with frustration and defeat. The children stood close to her, quietly watching as she cried brokenly. All this way for nothing! After a few moments, she got to her feet and brushed the tears from her face. A man tapped her on the shoulder: "Ma'am, you're needed inside." She didn't pay any particular attention to the gray-headed woman and two young ladies who made their way around them--one of them barefoot. Thinking the guard had reconsidered, she quickly re-entered the waiting area. But no, he was still at his post behind the iron bars. The waiting room was deserted, except....
	...except for a pair of shoes setting on a chair that had been placed beside the door. She snatched the folded piece of paper out of one of the shoes and hurriedly read, "Put these on and go see your husband." They not only fit perfectly, but were far better than those she had just taken off. The guards were surprised to see her again, but they let her through and went to get Jim. He was so glad to see her he didn't even fuss about what it had cost for her and the children to be there. He tore up the letter and asked her forgiveness for having sent it. They renewed their vows to stand by each other. Too quickly the time was gone, but at least she could leave knowing Jim and she would get through this together.
Relaying hugs and kisses to the children, she fumbled in her pockets for the car keys and felt the paper she'd taken out of the shoes. She drew it out, unfolded it and read, "I leave you these shoes in the Name of Jesus. He is a faithful friend who loves you and will never forsake you. We will be praying for you and your family. God bless you." The woman had left her name and address; it was just a few miles from where they lived. Less than six months later, Kelli and Jim were reunited outside the prison walls. Kelli had contacted the woman who left the shoes to thank her and found a wonderful friend who guided her to a much better job, a nice little church where they were warmly welcomed, and quickly made new friends. It was through her friendship that both Kelli and Jim made a decision to accept the Lord Jesus Christ as their personal Savior. And Jim was home--the truth had been discovered and the DA asked the judge to adjust Jim's sentence accordingly. That which had once seemed so completely destroyed had been restored... And what became of those shoes? They were enclosed in a clear box and placed where Kelli could point them out and tell their story to anyone who visited in their home. Shoes of Compassion that, indeed, led their lives in a much better direction--to Jesus Christ.
"Shoes of Compassion" Copyright © 1997 by Patricia Sikes. All Rights Reserved.
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