A Toms’ shoe drop experience.

This post is part of the #doJUSTICE series that’s more like a life-change happening. God’s doing a deep work in my heart, friends, and it’s not an easy one. I have a part 2 to yesterday’s confessions, but I thought I’d wait on that a bit. Those sort of posts are not the easiest to hit publish on, as you might imagine. Now, here’s a story I haven’t told you before.

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The first time I ever heard the phrase, “That’s a first world problem,” was while I was there in Guatemala. It was said in jest, and I didn’t think much of it because I didn’t really know what it meant. That was, until I made it back to the first world. Then, I got it.

A few days ago Husband, my son and I were in a city about an hour away from home for a meeting. After, we had some time to meander around. We stepped into a little store on the corner that sold Toms shoes. We only own one used pair, and there’s been some talk of buying some so I wanted to take a look.

First world problem: I don’t know which color to buy.

I didn’t expect to become so overwhelmed when I saw the assortment. I am a long way from those dusty, Guatemalan gravel roads, shuffling my feet on these polished wood floors, sauntering toward the rainbow studded wall.

I remembered their dust and remembered their dirt and how they stood respectfully in line and none of them entitled. No shoving. No taking. No impatient waiting.

Just their threads and their dust and their eyes. And her eyes.

“She was just four years old when they first met along the way,” Noel told us. They saw this little girl with a growth taking over her beautiful eyes, robbing her of her sight and her youth, and if they didn’t take care of it she would be blind in both eyes, and where does a mama get the money? She had one eye completely covered with a growth, and one on its way to be.

The group prayed for her healing, and kept on walking. Halfway down the road, someone speaks up, “Do we want to just prayer for her, or do we want to help her, too?” 

They decided to help, and together they were able to provide surgery for the girl whose name is Zorma, and she still has partial sight in one eye, because one decided to make a difference for one.

And what is the random chance in the number of children and workers there that I would sit before her — the one they told the story about? Only it wasn’t random, but God. And I knew He wanted this moment to impact me. He would use this moment to help shape me. To imprint on my heart because He’s trying to get a message through to me. A message to me that is becoming part of me, and one I know I can’t keep silent in me.

It took one saying I want to help her — one life — one little girl’s world changed forever.

Washing her feet and then putting on her shoes, I felt clumsy. I wasn’t sure I was doing it right. But I knew that I was right where I was supposed to be.

And four months later, the memory of this day came flooding through heart-ache I thought would knock me over and leave me undone — all in these short, long steps I took toward that wall.

When I got to it, one for one — I read.

What a dream come alive. This man’s dream reality, and mine, a seed planted, as I slipped tiny impoverished feet into the One for One.

And Toms is a for-profit business, eh? I am not sure I can call Toms justice. I just don’t know. But the truth of it is, I probably wouldn’t have been staring into those eyes that day had it not been for Toms, and I’m not sure those eyes would’ve been staring back. That day I learned something. And this day, I’m still learning, but in the still-learning, I don’t want to be still.

“Justice can be messy on its borders and unclear in the exact ways it ought to be understood or pursued or applied — and that’s a good thing. It means that God, who is perfectly just, and who desires justice for all of His creation, can ask us to use our unique talents and passions and experiences to pursue justice. Wherever we find ourselves, we can make a difference…” Ken Wystma, Pursuing Justice

And if only I could let a dream like that run loose and see the world changed or change another’s world because of it.

Because changing the world seems much too big and easier to leave for someone else, bigger than me.

But changing someone’s world — for just one — so one can see?

And once I see, it becomes my responsibility.

Is it justice for me to stand before a wall and be confused as to what color I should buy?

Giving up little from much to give much to one who has so little. Why is that so hard to do? Or remember to do?

I’m not talking about buying Toms shoes, here. No. It’s God calling me to live my life different than I have, and I’m not sure I know how.

I pray, “What would You have me do, Lord? Whose world do You want me to change? What’s this dream You have for me to live?”

And I’m seeking to follow Him each step of the way. I don’t want to miss it. I want to go where He leads, where He wants me, and wherever I go be available to make a difference, to offer what is in my hands no matter how small it may seem. In the hands of a big God there is no limit to what He can do with it.

How often have I missed my chance, here in my everyday, have I just prayed and walked away?

These are the questions burning in the heart of this mama — pursing justice.