Dearly Departed Soles

Well. I was going to write about Ferguson and title it "Confergusony." Decided to veer away from that because I don't know the details. My proposed title suggests how I may see it, but I think this is a profound replaying of white and black issues of mutual misunderstanding and resentments. White on White and Black on Black don't offer the polarizing narrative. The legacy of slavery is still with us and may be forever from what I can tell. 

Then I was thinking about the people in Iraq fleeing from ISIS or their newly expanded acronym of Middle-Eastern Caliphate with the Cutlass. Islam is on trial and only the most addled multi-culturist could avoid asking serious questions about a religion that fosters such rage among some of its adherents. These brutes make Mark Driscoll look like a castrated girly-man. Brutes is not even the right name, madmen more like. Iraqis run but can't escape the contagion. Only Jesus is our Refuge, harking back to the Old Testament idea of Cities of Refuge where the accused and pursued could seek succor and safety. The Book of Hebrews is very Old Testament with Christ being presented as the fulfillment of the promise of redemption, reconciliation, and refuge. 

Then, I decided to write about running, specifically me tossing two pair of jogging shoes. One pair is about 20 years old, the Brooks brand (can see them a bit in the pic), had been relegated to the back trunk of my car in case I needed to switch shoes--like from dress to them when I had some walking to do. The second pair were my first Nike running shoes. About a decade old--they were my kicking-around-town shoes. Both pairs has experienced a separation of soul/sole and body and despite my efforts, like gluing Humpty-Dumpty back together again, the efforts proved futile. 

The Sacouny pair is long gone (never liked them), but the oldest pair of all, the New Balance, are still chugging along and serve as my mountain-biking footwear. Never great running shoes, they were and are more like boots. The Nikes in the picture were my favorites. The last big run I did with them was on last Christmas Day down in Sarasota, Florida. Since I did carry on luggage, I could only take the pair of shoes I was wearing on the run. Frankly, my feet hurt after those ten or so miles. The shoes just had lost their structure. Very comfy though for walking around town in.

All told, each pair over the last twenty years served about 12-15 miles a week for five years apiece. Do the math. 800 miles a year, 4,000 total? I am too lazy to get the calculator five feet away. I am a writer, not a math geek. There were some mixing of the pairs at times. For example, when the weather is crappy, I still pull out my New Balance and run in them. Like snow tires. Older shoes tend to be lighter but offer less cushion. A trade-off.  

It was sad to throw the shoes out but it had to be done.  Like trying to keep the old beaten Family Station Wagon on the road after the Divorce, it was time to let them go. Only people remain. The sun will go cold, the Universe will collapse, the elements will melt, and God will recreate the world. Only He and humans are eternal. I think that is ultimately what being made in the Image of God means. Eternality. Something tells me that if we could get that straight, a lot of the hatreds and misunderstandings down here would pass away.