HAND-MADE ITALIAN SHOES

It’s interesting what thoughts come into one’s mind when they sit down at the computer. I don't think I have bothered thinking about hand-made Italian shoes during the last 40 plus years. Yet here I sit pondering upon what great anticipation I had, as a recent returned missionary, as I wandered into the Men's clothing store on the corner of Garden Grove Boulevard and Euclid Avenue in Garden Grove, California, knowing I had enough money in my hand-me-down wallet to finally buy those long coveted hand-made Italian shoes.

What a wondrous luxurious felling oozed up my legs as I slipped my foot between the layers of soft leather. I slipped my over trodden worn out missionaries shoes into the hand-made Italian shoebox and exited the store sporting my hand-made Italian shoes. I was absolutely sure everyone was as aware as I was that my feet were adorned with shoes which only the rich and famous could wear.

Not even during my army basic training days, when my every action was under the watchful eye of the training sergeant, did I take such devoted care of my footwear. Polish, shoe trees, dust covers, no expense was spared in caring for those special hand-made Italian shoes.
But alas, all too soon, due to their very thin leather soles, the day came when suddenly I awoke and realized that my hand-made Italian shoes had glistening tops, but the bottoms had become gilded. My socks were now visible through the holes in the priceless leather soles.

Oh, what day of sadness, as I stood in shock as the smiling cobbler, twittering with glee, informed me that because of the unique composition of the shoes, they could not be re-soled. In a matter of a few blinding seconds my era among the rich and famous came to a crashing end.
The hand-made Italian shoes remained on my closet shelf for several years with other trophies of past imagined triumphs, but were eventually discarded with the onset of a meaningful reality check.

Today as I recall this event, my soul is filled with jocularity at the importance I had placed on that single pair of hand-made Italian shoes and now that the priorities of my life have been dramatically altered, I wonder:

What kind of husband would I be if I treated that sublime stewardship/relationship with such stalwartness?

What kind of father would I be if I approached that ultimate responsibility with the same care and tenderness?

What kind of neighbor would I be if I elevated them to the same level of price and priority?

What kind of offspring of Deity would I be if I were to strive to emulate the characteristics of Godliness to the same degree?

Elder Neal A. Maxwell has eloquently expressed what I am trying to say in the following words: “Someday when we look back on mortality, we will see that so many of the things that seemed to matter so much at the moment will be seen not to have mattered at all. And the eternal things will be seen to have mattered even more than the most faithful of the Saints imagined.”

I can enthusiastically testify that there is indeed life after hand-made Italian shoes become holey and dust covers their luster. I can also with certain knowledge testify that husbanding requires a lot of polishing to keep its sheen, that fathering requires a lot of supporting to keep things in shape, that neighboring is only of value when covered with kindness. I am also grateful to our loving Father, who when we put holes in our souls becomes the Full of Grace Cobbler who will forever provide a way to re-soul.