I like feet. Little ones, to be exact.
Especially when stocking covered or cowgirl boot clad, and in mid swing.
That’s when I love feet.
{and thus, I become said foot photographer}
But my feet. They’re a whole ‘nother story.
You see, I have this adorable pair of ribbon-covered ballet flats that I acquired on super clearance at Target {which instantly makes them even cuter} and to say they have been adequately worn and thoroughly loved would be a massive understatement.
I heart them.
And due to the consistency of this relationship, any amount of “foot warmth” inside them causes their…hmm, let’s call it “aroma”…to pour forth. It’s enough to make your nostril hair curl. My husband forbids me from removing these shoes in the car when it’s cold and the heat is on because the heat just pumps the smell upward. He subsequently dry heaves and then threatens to throw the shoes, along with my aromatic feet, out of the window.
Keeping these suckers on in the car is hard for a girl who would be barefoot year round if at all possible, and who loves to sit cross-legged in the passenger-seat. Barefoot, of course.
But out of my fierce allegiance to these shoes love for my husband, I keep them on. Tucked as far under my seat and away from the heating vent as possible.
Truly…these shoes have a personality all their own.
I donned these babies all weekend at the conference we were at in Grand Rapids. And then promptly inserted one of them – in all it’s glory – into my mouth.
Allow me to explain.
The bible talks about feet and how lovely the ones that bring good news are. I’d like to say that mine always rush to share good news. But that would be a fib. A considerably enormous one.
You see, my filter malfunctions on a relatively frequent basis. I rush over to share something that pops into my noodle without first stopping to think about the weight or value of what I’m spewing forth. What kind of impact will this information have on the other person? Will it encourage or graciously challenge them, or simply pass along frivolous, and potentially destructive, information?
My tongue just flaps, and then as my words start to settle in, I start to recoil and revisit them.
I did that this weekend.
I spotted this guy I hadn’t seen for about 11 years, since I was a youth leader at our old church, and thought it would be good to reconnect with him.
Oh, how I wish I could just leave it there.
You should know…he didn’t really remember me. At all. But I remembered him alright. I had had a mad crush on him {I was nineteen and obsessed}, and for some unknown reason, I thought it would be a good idea to walk up to him and, out of the blue, blurt out this little morsel of information.
“Yeah, so…hi…remember me…?…I like totally had the biggest crush on you for years…{insert awkward laugh}. Just thought you’d be amused to know…{insert more awkward laughter now that he’s squirming and looking at me like I have a booger on my forehead}…how funny it that?”
{awkward silence}
Why in the name of all that is good and holy would I see value in sharing something so pointless?
I’ll admit, I thought we could all stand around and share a laugh about it. But I’m weird like that. He didn’t think it was funny. He was downright uncomfortable.
So I sheepishly stuck up my left hand and said, “I’m happily married…I’m not hitting on you…just hadn’t seen you in years…and…well…sorry”, I slunk back into the crowd.
Turns out he’s not married yet. And he’s shy. And is clearly weirded out by strange women who declare past love for him as he walks through the door of a church.
Ahem.
I could see how that would be a little unsettling.
Doh.
Needless to say, every time we walked past each other, it was a little tense.
My husband had a good chuckle. And then sussed him out. Which I’m sure made the poor guy even more uncomfortable.
And the silly part of all of this was, it didn’t have to be that way. If I had have just kept my mouth shut and shared the giggles with my sisters instead {who happened to remember him from youth group}, I would have avoided all the awkwardness of the encounter. And, here’s the part that weighs on me, freed him up to focus on what God had for him that night…rather than sift through the obvious emotions I tapped with my unfiltered drivel.
Open mouth, insert foot.
My filter needs to be fixed. Or maybe it’s not that it’s broken…possibly it’s just that I don’t pause long enough to utilize it before sharing my infinite pearls of wisdom {sarcasm most definitely intended}.
And speaking of brilliant moves…look what I made for lunch:
Close mouth, order Chinese.
{Apparently I need a little more practice in using the broiler…and my filter!}
