BECAUSE I HAVE SHOES
There
was a time, not long ago, when I understood that a pair of shoes could be the
status symbol of an entire community, the actual measure of a person’s worth
On
a sweltering day in Central
America, our mission
party squeezed into a 9-passenger van that somehow crammed 15 other people
inside, all waiting along the road for a ride. The driver, generous soul that
he was, stopped for everyone. Our party was traveling to a commercial banana
plantation, a good hour’s drive from the missionary home base.
The
van was the usual Central American vehicle; no frills, no air-conditioning with
virtually no windows intact. The upholstery was ragged, and if you boarded the
van late, seating room was almost nonexistent. Some brave souls hung from the
sliding doors, holding tenaciously to the framework of the vehicle. The
stranger sitting beside you literally become flesh of your flesh by the time
the driver dropped us off on the dirt road leading to the plantation.
We
walked some distance on the bicycle path before crossing a rusty metal
footbridge spanning a writhing river of muddy water. Recent rains had swollen
the river so that looking through the metal webbing at the churning water
created a sick dizzy feeling.
Weary
and hot, we arrived safely at the center of the banana agricultural industry
where a community of workers lived, worked, and quite often never left.
Hundreds of acres of banana trees surrounded the central housing area. One
could easily be lost in the endless rows of banana plants. By US standards, the
condition of this community was definitely below poverty level.
At
one end of the village, a waist-high cement pool of water with concrete
washboards served as a public laundry. Tired looking women with babies on their
hips leaned against the structure scrubbing their dirty clothes.
We
walked through the muddy streets, notifying the people that, in one hour, a
Bible program would be presented for the children. Our team set up beneath a
rickety shelter next to an open field by the school. We unloaded our heavy
backpacks and in a short time, a crowd of children and adults arrived from
every corner of the village to listen to the gospel message.
The
presentation was in simple form so all could easily understand. A backdrop of
eager faces, the odors of ripening bananas, and brilliant blue skies, burned a
lasting picture in my memory, so vividly poignant with the pathos of poverty
and wretchedness, seeing with misty eyes the naked truth of struggling
humanity.
After
the gospel presentation, we gave small gifts of candy, coloring books, crayons,
and a variety of reading material to the children. A sweet-faced boy named
Daniel asked if he could tour the missionaries through the primary school and
we enthusiastically accepted. After admiring the small but sturdy cement-block
building, I asked Daniel why he was chosen as our tour guide.
“Because,”
he said looking down at his feet, a warm smile spreading across his face,
“because I have shoes.”
Among
the many bare feet of the children, I failed to notice that Daniel wore the
only pair of shoes. He also sported a belt and a baseball cap, a wealthy lad by
community standards. The other children gazed at Daniel with genuine pride. He
represented his peers with the best they could hope for—shoes, an item we take
for granted, never considering the many children and adults who have none.
The
words, “because I have shoes,” still echo in my mind. While searching for a way
to supply shoes for barefoot children of the world, I discovered an organization that
collects shoes for those who have none. Donate
shoes today.
DONATE YOUR OLD SHOES
