Think on This

By Sandy Long

The art of heart

I spend a few days each week fitting footwear on people who work and play hard in the great outdoors. Together we figure out what clothing will meet the needs of the woman newly hired to the highway crew or the adventurer headed for exotic places. Quite a few people venture to the outdoor outfitter where I work in search of the perfect fit. Usually, the match is easily made; it feels good, looks even better, goes out the door in a plastic bag or on someone’s feet.

In this job, fit is an art form not to be hurried, or taken lightly. Fit and feet matter. In the job I left as a college administrator, I would never have suspected this. All work has its teaching moments and that one had plenty. But working at people’s feet has offered surprising insight.

Mid-afternoon, a man arrives seeking sneakers. Pair after pair is pulled from the shelves, offered for inspection, laced onto a foot. Nothing is right. I can feel a slight impatience growing within me. Pinches here, pulls there, wrong price, too much color. There is mention of foot problems, neuromas, heel spurs. An hour passes. My internal judge taps on the door of the dark place where I routinely banish her.

“Is he a whiner, or what?” I fight the impulse to join in.

“He’s not here to buy shoes! He’s just killing time—yours!” She is right, but also wrong. No shoes will fit today, but that is not what he needs and I have almost failed to discern it.

Finally, it comes. During his drive today, this man came upon a deer, struck by a car, fatally injured but still alive, still struggling.

“The police were there,” he offers.

I feel for the thing that is swimming in his eyes.

“It’s just that—I never see them that way. They’re usually dead.”

Together in a basement filled with footwear, we hold this painful thing for a moment. Soon after, he departs, grasping my hand, saying thanks.

Let’s not forget how we affect one another’s lives, how easily we can harm or help. Can we learn to listen with our hearts?