Inside the Spin-Mosaic Studio

This isn't a bad drawing. My foot really does look like a blue gill pan-fish. Don't worry. This photo is part of my prayer-journal sketches. It was never meant to be framed on anyone's wall.

My prayer is that my children will grow up being okay with different---more than okay. May they run gloriously on angel clouds with whatever differences, physically or intellectually, that God has gifted them with.

My foot looks like a blue gill. It's different. That statement was not pluralized on purpose. Both of my feet do not look like a bluegill. Only one of them does.

The other foot looks like a perch.

Do you know your fish? One is short and stout. The other is long and narrow. 

Do you know your feet? I do and I wish I was not so well acquainted. My feet look like fish; 2 different fish. We have several of each frozen in taxidermic poses on the wall at our lake cabin. My son knows the difference. My husband knows the difference. His dad's dad...knew the difference. I married into the family.

I know the difference between my left and my right foot, too. One foot fits a full size different than the other--wide at the center, with a narrow heel. Every pair of shoes I ever buy is uncomfortable. Any shoes I wear can only ever be one-foot good-fit wonders.

A few years ago I decided to take up running again. It was an "after-the-last-baby" resolution and we all know what that's about. A few weeks in, it became clear that my old running shoes would not work.

Did you know it's common for mom-feet to increase by a 1/2-size with each pregnancy? I have had 4 babies. My left foot didn't get that memo. I hadn't ran since I got pregnant with my first. Those old shoes were worn so thin I could almost feel the pebbles on the pavement. My right perch foot ached. But, these were my favorite shoes...!?

Within a week, I had shopped around (with a baby and 3 littles) and found a pair that were "as good as it gets" but, not great. With two feet that appeared to belong to different people attached to each of my legs, there is no "good" pair, there is only "good enough". Then, I hope for the best. Some decisions are like that. I placed bets with myself on the drive home which foot would ache first.

I wore the stiff-but-shiney new shoes for a couple runs. The leather softened, but did not suffice.  "There has GOT to be a pair that fits both feet perfectly. Somewhere...out there...".

Venting to friends gave me the benefit of 3 more options to consider. Did you know there is a place that will record your soles running on a special treadmill? For the right price, a custom pair can be made that fit no one on earth but ME? Key words: the right price. Nope. 

Then, there was the persistent friend, "Keep looking! You'll find them!" That kind of faith is appreciated. But, to be honest, if there were a real pair anywhere rolling off a factory belt so irregular that they could fit me and my fish perfectly, they would already have been trashed during quality control inspections.   

Then there was the practical friend. She said to purchase two pairs of identical shoes of the same brand = 4 shoes. Buy one pair in a 9 wide (with a heel insert) and one pair in a 10 narrow. Wear the 9 on my blue gill foot, the 10 on my perch foot, and dance my troubles away. Brilliant. 

Just when I was about to buy my friend a Starbucks gift card for soul/sole support, my 4-year-old son piped up,

"Why do you need more shoes, Mom? Just wear the ones you already got, then wear the new ones, too."

See, he was the one along for the ride during my endless shopping adventures. He was the one listening in from the throne of the jogging stroller as I grumbled about my aching feet under my breath. He was the one making cities for his lego dudes from my collection of discarded shoe boxes.

He romped over to the rug in the mudroom and picked up one old shoe and one new. From the mouths of babes...those are the two individual shoes that fit best on each individual foot.

How would that look? One shoe was bright pink and black. The other was gray and white. But, my feet would be riding on heavenly clouds. Imagine!? 

"Alright, Buddy. Let's go. Hop in that stroller. Let's test this out!"

Yep! Heavenly clouds. Angels were singing. If anyone noticed that my shoes didn't match, does it really matter?

I'm different. My feet are different. If I want to run well, I will have to be ok with different.

Don't we all want to teach this to our kids, too? Didn't my son just teach me?

A couple days later, we were heading to the back yard to play on the swing, "Get your shoes on!"

Then... my peripheral vision caught this in it's hook:

"Whoa, Buddy...". My voice sang like an angel as I spun around in my pink, black, gray and white running shoes to help. "Your shoes don't match!?"

"It's okay, Mom." He said with a voice more angelic than mine.

"I want to be just like you."