Taking Off My Shoes by Jeanne Perin

“ How can you walk a mile in someone else’s shoes unless 

you take your own shoes off?”

This question posed and inspired by Pastor Jim from the book, Walk a Mile in My Shoes by Trevor Hudson, has been going through my head since arriving in Kenya Monday morning. In that night’s devotion, Jim suggested that to get the most from our pilgrimage, we should take daily time to reflect and journal, describing the new experiences and asking questions of ourselves that bubble up. The one that came to me almost immediately after our evening was, “How do I take off my own shoes?” Literally, of course, it’s simple, but what does it mean spiritually, in the context in which I am now? How do I take off my own shoes and walk in the shoes of these beautiful people that God loves the same as he loves me? What can I do to enable relationship that is both healthy and helpfully compassionate?

The answer began to take shape in light of the contrasts between my own and the Kenyan culture when frustration and humility arose as I was confronted with my own brokenness at the same time as seeing the varied brokenness in this country.

Since, to put it mildly, I don’t have very pretty feet, taking off my  own shoes  spiritually and in this place means exposing something or things of myself that I don’t like. There are several that have become apparent in the travel and early days here.

First, the 36 hours on planes and in airports coming here showed me how wedded I am to the comfort and self-control of my culture. Hours spent sitting cramped in the economy section of four different airplanes, cold water showers after arriving, lost luggage, muddy red clay on my shoes, all jolted me into recognition of this dependence.

Being quick to judge is another failing of mine that reared its ugly head in these first days. Betty, my travel companion, and I were able to see the preemies at Nazareth Hospital in the complex where we’re staying. Two moms were there holding their newborns. Purity was joyfully welcoming her new baby, while Lois, sitting with one baby in her arms and its twin in the nearby incubator, looked a bit strained and tired.

Not thinking anything of it, I spoke to both and encouraged them about the new development in their lives, remembering the joy I felt when Dave’s and my own daughters were born. Later, during that evening’s devotion when I was describing our visit to the team, it came as a shock to me when Jim told us that twins born in Kenya, especially in rural areas where we are, are considered a curse and in years past, were not allowed to live. Although these babies won’t be killed, they face a future stigma because of superstition.

There’s plenty more evidence of my own brokenness, but these dominate in the current circumstances and are sufficient to pull me out of any feelings of superiority or tendencies to patronize.  In the remaining week and a half, I will strive, with God’s faithful help, to just be here as the broken person I am, walking in God’s love and grace, praying for him to show me how best to relate and asking Him how best to continue after the trip is over, to walk gracefully with these people and the many others Tree of Lives seeks to serve.


You can help support this great cause. Visit www.treeoflives.org to learn more and click here to donate now.