My Red Boots

It's been a spring of often frustrating decisions about what to wear.
Boots or sandals. They both sit by the door.
But I'm afraid to put the boots away just yet.
And I do really love my boots.
My red boots.
They kind of jump out at you.
Easy to see in a snowstorm or while out tobogganing.
I love the colour.
I love how they make my feet feel.
When I bought them, the salesclerk said to me, "These boots are like a duvet for your feet."
At first I looked at her and thought, "Yeah. You're just trying to make the sale."
I smiled and oooohhhed and ahhhhhed.
But then.
I sat down on the bench.
I lifted a boot.
And discovered that the boot was as light as a feather.
Surprised, I pulled the boots onto my feet.
And yes.
Duvet.
I have sandals that are heavier than these boots.
I was sold.
"I'll take them!"
They have proven to be amazing boots. Light. I don't feel like I'm trudging around in them. Warm. My feet stay comfortable in the snow.

Comfort things are so good. We like to be comfortable. Warm. Snuggled. Taken care of. We like to feel that the burden is light.

If you've ever gone tobogganing down a hill, you know what it's like to make the hike back up to the top. It's one thing that you're wearing a snowsuit, toque and mittens, but the boots just top it off. What takes seconds to sail down, takes an eternity to climb. Just to do it again. The weight of winter clothes provides a warm and energy-using experience.

But not in my boots.

My feet are swift and light as they carry me up the hills.
"You have made a wide path for my feet to keep them from slipping." (Psalm 18:36)

My path is steady without the extra weight.
"The Sovereign Lord is my strength! He makes me as surefooted as the deer, able to tread upon the heights." (Habakkuk 3:19)

My legs are ready to propel me onwards and upwards.
"Stand firm then ... with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace." (Ephesians 6:15)

And what happens when I get back up the snow hill? I greet my fellow winter enthusiasts and I tell them something. I tell them the good news. I'm sure they see it on my face anyway, but I tell them this:
"That was so fun!"
I tell them that the hill was a good run. I tell them the locations of the bumps along the ride. I tell them I want to do it again. I tell them that they'll love it.
I share my experience with them.
"How beautiful on the mountains are the feet of those who bring good news." (Isaiah 52:7)

And then I hop back on my sled and do it again. We all fly down that hill, laughing, hollering, ending up in a heap at the bottom.

My boots hang in there. If they were anything less, I would slip, I would freeze, I would stumble.

As it is now April, I see my red boots on the mat. Sandal season is awaiting the approval of the weather forecast. And my red boots will wait a few seasons until they take care of my feet again. The torch is passed on to my flip-flops, which will serve their own purpose in protecting and comforting my feet. Snowy hills are forgotten and warm beach sand replaces.

Tricky terrain, both, but my feet are secure.
My way is sure.
My being is steady.