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Dirty Church Shoes
Written By: Johnny Roque
Church shoes means the entire experience of church varies between clean and dirty like ones soul.
This episode is also available as a blog post: https://smirkfiction.wordpress.com/2022/01/02/dirty-church-shoes/
Stepping into Church means walking into God’s house. The house of the almighty, the Alpha and the Omega, the Father; a house of reverence that deserves respect. Everything stands out in Church, the things on the inside and the out. The most holy people in Church know right away when someone walks in holding sin in their heart. A single glance that inspects you up and down lets them know who needs prayer the most in the entire building, starting at the head all the way down to the toes. Normally I make sure to match, iron, and shine everything I wear on Sunday the prior night. It makes everything move along much faster. Everyone gives a big smile, a hug, and a warm send-off. Unfortunately today I slipped on my work shoes in a rush and those shoes, though comfortable, look like a cowboys favorite belt.
I tried to clean them off in the parking lot. A good spit shine seemed to make sense, but that only added a filthy yellow tint. Luckily an old newspaper I picked up leaving the office waiting room hid between my seats. Unluckily the newspaper smudged dirt that I used it to clean my back window all over the outside of my retched black leather and yellow tinted shoes. I shamefully admit I walked into God’s house in these unholy soles.
Each and every step I took I heard the murmurs. All the women wearing a freshly pinned wig lowered their glasses. Their focus beamed on me. It took ten minutes just to find my seat. I held their hands in prayer, even after I insisted everything in my life followed God’s plan. They prayed even harder. I shook hands on multi-million dollar deals that felt softer than these elderly women’s grips. It seemed they tried to squeeze the devil out of me. At the end of the service I quickly left. My hands felt like they might break after another spirit lead prayer. I drove straight to the shoe repair shop around the corner and I pointed at the Sunday special. He looked up giving a devilish grin and took my shoes. The Sunday special cost twice the price, but I know that after the cleaning and polish my soles never need that amount of prayer again.
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By Johnny RoqueWritten By: Johnny Roque
Church shoes means the entire experience of church varies between clean and dirty like ones soul.
This episode is also available as a blog post: https://smirkfiction.wordpress.com/2022/01/02/dirty-church-shoes/
Stepping into Church means walking into God’s house. The house of the almighty, the Alpha and the Omega, the Father; a house of reverence that deserves respect. Everything stands out in Church, the things on the inside and the out. The most holy people in Church know right away when someone walks in holding sin in their heart. A single glance that inspects you up and down lets them know who needs prayer the most in the entire building, starting at the head all the way down to the toes. Normally I make sure to match, iron, and shine everything I wear on Sunday the prior night. It makes everything move along much faster. Everyone gives a big smile, a hug, and a warm send-off. Unfortunately today I slipped on my work shoes in a rush and those shoes, though comfortable, look like a cowboys favorite belt.
I tried to clean them off in the parking lot. A good spit shine seemed to make sense, but that only added a filthy yellow tint. Luckily an old newspaper I picked up leaving the office waiting room hid between my seats. Unluckily the newspaper smudged dirt that I used it to clean my back window all over the outside of my retched black leather and yellow tinted shoes. I shamefully admit I walked into God’s house in these unholy soles.
Each and every step I took I heard the murmurs. All the women wearing a freshly pinned wig lowered their glasses. Their focus beamed on me. It took ten minutes just to find my seat. I held their hands in prayer, even after I insisted everything in my life followed God’s plan. They prayed even harder. I shook hands on multi-million dollar deals that felt softer than these elderly women’s grips. It seemed they tried to squeeze the devil out of me. At the end of the service I quickly left. My hands felt like they might break after another spirit lead prayer. I drove straight to the shoe repair shop around the corner and I pointed at the Sunday special. He looked up giving a devilish grin and took my shoes. The Sunday special cost twice the price, but I know that after the cleaning and polish my soles never need that amount of prayer again.