Christmas Shoes~a short story

Yesterday, while I was working, I noticed that as I walked on the linoleum, a clip-clopping sound came from one shoe. I didn’t bother to investigate and ended up trying to tip toe when I walked, because it was noisy. Weeks ago, the bottom part of one of the heels came off, most likely due to the fact, that I wear them often. It was not until I got home, that I discovered that the cap had come off, and I was bummed out. They are worn and comfy and the stitching around them is still in tact. I park at a certain location at work, and I figured that it could have come off either in the parking lot, or perhaps while I was crossing the street. This morning while at church a young woman sat near me. I noticed her very nice looking black boots and mentioned that to her. I shared my little saga about my favorite shoes and told her that my hubby the all purpose repair man, had gorilla glued one of the heels, but that the cap had come off once again. I thought that I was going to have to retire the shoes. Lo and behold, when I got home after church, the repair man showed me my shoes. He found the missing part near the neighborhood mailboxes. I was amazed… and so happy. When the glue is dry, they will be good to go for hopefully many more miles. The point of this short story is the fact that my husband found the missing cap. It is my belief that God, is a very personal Father. There are no details in our lives, that He is unaware of, because nothing is hidden from His view. He often surprises us, with simple little gifts that are sometimes mind-boggling. He reveals His love in this manner, and it tells me that He is thinking of me.



creative writing

Dancing On Water

Grandmother was frail. It often kept her inactive. What had always been so natural to her, chopping wood to warm the Hogan and to prepare a simple meal, was now a major task. It was difficult to watch her. She had much energy in her youth. As the days slipped away grandmother sat quietly and looked off into the distance. Locked up in her world of silence. How she had loved to ride the painted pony, riding through the arid desert, strong and confidant. It was a beautiful sight to my then young eyes. She had taught me the tradition of dance. Dance came natural to her. She often relived the experience she once had while visiting the ocean. It was a one time experience that she held dear to her heart. She described how the liquid gold danced upon the water. Brilliant and bright. She thanked our creator for the opportunity to see with her own eyes, only, what she had heard from tourists that frequented the store on the reservation. With my heart I revered the times of story telling and I determined to cling to the ways of our people.