Barefoot
Today, for the first time, I was ejected from a retail establishment other than the school cafeteria for not wearing shoes.

Summer work has been modestly fruitful for me thus far; accordingly, I had a check to deposit. The nearest Wells Fargo ATM to my house is in the Safeway across the street. I set out on a nice, leisurely stroll to complete this errand.

The ground, as usual, was wonderful; today, the sunshine made it warm and inviting. I smiled to feel the heterogeneous medley of textures pass underfoot; the wide and beautiful variety of the earth God made and is redeeming. Pavement and grass, gravel and asphalt, each step delicious. Even the floor of the supermarket was pleasant to feel—a cool, refreshing tile met my footfalls with characteristic hospitality as I crossed the threshold.

There was a man standing at the Lottery Tickets counter, donning his Safeway apron. He was a large and rather unusual-looking man, a ruddy fellow with a scruffy beard, short hair, and beady, suspicious eyes. I took an extra second to look at him, and to bless God for this stranger by the side of the road.

Apparently, he took an extra second to look at me, too. I had taken perhaps twenty steps past him on my way to the bank when he called after me, “Sir!”

I turned around.

“Sir,” he said again, signaling me with his hand. I began to walk toward him. “Can’t come in here like that, sir,” he said, “You’ve got to have shoes on.” Then, as though to justify his argument by his own footwear preference, he lifted his foot and pointed to his own black and white Nike.

“Alright,” I said quietly and distantly, and exited the store.

A fountain of confused responses bubbled up within me. Rage—should I be angry at the man? Despondency—am I merely an idiot to walk barefoot in public? Shame—how should I respond to this sort of public humiliation?

It was a moment of truth. Would I acquiesce to the standards of society and reduce my discalced ventures to a personal pleasure, or is this something bigger, something deeper, something which connects to my soul, something I am called to?

I prayed, and the fog cleared from my mind. I sat down up my computer, and popped one word into Google: Barefoot. Sure enough, the first thing I find, Barefooters.org, contains a letter from the Colorado Department of Health stating in no uncertain terms that there is no health department regulation demanding that patrons of eateries wear shoes, and that, if there is such a policy at an individual vendor, it is at the discretion of that owner.

I returned to the Safeway with a copy of that letter in my pocket, and carefully surveyed the premises for any posted signs warning “No shoes, no service,” or, more pointedly, “No shoes, we’ll kick you out.” Finding none, I went inside and did my business.

I saw the guy on my way out. He was bagging groceries. But, for better or for worse, he did not try to stop me again.

It is a milestone on my discalced wanderings. I have stumbled upon the larger barefoot community. I have found articles defending barefootedness in a temporal sense, and exploring barefootedness in a spiritual sense. I can say now, confidently, that while I don’t know what was in God’s mind in making me barefoot, it is in God’s mind, and not merely my own.