The Wrong Boots

I knew that my daughter would like the boots.
The boots were for her birthday, nineteen years old.
At that age, birthday presents mostly consist of new clothes.
I was sure these boots would be a new favorite.

I was right.
They were leather with flannel inside.
They laced, but also had snaps.
You could turn down the leather sides to make them various heights.

She was so excited to wear them back at college.
She came home for a quick weekend visit three weeks after she got her new boots.
The heel on one foot had a small crack in the back.
The heel was coming away from the bottom of the shoe.

She and I were both disappointed.
We looked online but there was not another boot to be had in her size.
I told her that I would take them to be repaired.
The old cobbler with the thick accent, who can fix anything, could not fix her boots.

I see many boots just like this, he said as I strained to understand him.
I make you brand new sole…very expensive, he said and it was.
It was almost the cost of new boots.
They boots would go back to the store.

I set out to find other boots to replace the defective ones.
That was no easy task.
Either they were too low or too high or had the same type heel as her other ones.
I happened to pass a shoe store in the mall that was having a boot sale.

I went in and found a pair that looked similar to the ones she got on her birthday.
They had decorative buckles on the side, which I was not sure if she would like.
I bought them anyway, since the price was right and it was the last one in her size.
After sending her a picture, she really did not like the buckles, which I already knew.

I went to one last place and found exactly what I was looking for.
I had some discounts to apply, which brought the price down to the cost of the other boots.
I had to go back and return the boots with the buckles.
As I drove back, I wondered why I made an extra trip for myself.

It soon became clear.

The same woman was behind the counter.
I walked up to the register with the bag and receipt in hand.
It’s me again, I said with a smile.
It’s the buckles; not exactly what she was hoping for, I said without knowing why.

She began to process the return.
Oh, I am so tired of this music, she said meaning it.
I listened carefully and heard Christmas music in the background.
The mall was already decorated for Christmas and the music was part of the ambiance.

They do start earlier and earlier each year, I said emphatically.
It would be nice if they waited until after Thanksgiving, meaning what I said as well.
Don’t let it steal your joy.
I said those last words, yet I had no idea why I said them.

I have a very hard time around the holidays, she said with a sadness I could feel.
My mind went back to Sunday morning when my daughter and I heard a sermon.
The pastor spoke on the sadness that many feel this time of year.
Sadness that cannot be put into words, not even to God.

She continued with the transaction and I looked at the sadness in her eyes.
I was praying my shooting arrows prayer on her behalf as I stood there.
I began to talk to her and her manager came up at that very moment.
He hovered nearby, waiting for the resister.

She seemed uncomfortable and I was annoyed; annoyed at the enemy.
The enemy of our souls that hinders, deflects, and tries to sabotage the things of God.
Give me an opportunity, Lord, I prayed still watching and waiting.
I signed the return slip and the store copy and she handed me my charge card.

My window of opportunity was closing rapidly.
I walked around the side of the register counter.
Don’t let anything steal your joy, I said as I put my hand on her arm.
She looked up, really looked at my face; we both smiled.

She really smiled.
With my hand on her arm I said the words.
I will pray for you.
She smiled and her countenance seemed to change.

She was still smiling as I left the store.
I got back in my car and prayed to the Father who hears the cries of His children.

I am like a deaf man, who cannot hear, like a mute, who cannot open his mouth; I have become like a man who does not hear, whose mouth can offer no reply. I wait for You, O Lord; You will answer, O Lord my God…O Lord do not forsake me; be not far from me, O my God. Come quickly to help me, O Lord my Savior. (Psalm 38:13-15,21,22)

Sometimes we are too sad to pray.
Sometimes we are too discouraged to speak.
We need Someone to speak on our behalf.
That is what the Holy Spirit does, when He intercedes for us to the Father.

He turns our groans into a beautiful acceptable prayer, a melody to the Father.
God uses us to intercede for others, as well.
The Holy Spirit prompts us to pray for them when they cannot pray for themselves.
I know why I had to return to that store.

I know why.