I take off my shoes when I come in my house. The men I live with do not, which is their preference. I enjoy the feel of the hardwood floors, and the ceramic tiles, and the area rugs. When I was younger, I went barefoot outside as well, even in cold weather. One time, a shop owner discretely offered to give me a pair of shoes. My mother was mortified. 

 

John and I were married in bare feet, which was what we wanted. The minister met us half way and wore sandals. Then we pranced up the hill to the reception and ate cake. 

 

It makes me smile to know there is a story in the bible about being barefoot. Moses was in the desert when he noticed a burning bush. God told him that the ground was holy, and he should take off his shoes. The meaning is what John and I were after in our wedding, the notion of approaching a sacred space. The minister in church invited us to do likewise, and we collectively felt the cool stones beneath us, the ones we had been oblivious to before. Except for Ben, who kept his socks on. 

 

Benjamin had something to say about the experiment. 

"If you take your shoes off on a gravel road it will hurt." He spoke from experience. 

 

The minister also invited us to remember that when we approach another person, they are sacred. They deserve to be given respect. We can take off those lower concerns like how they look, or their social skills, and believe that God cherishes them. 

 

It turns out that when we remove those external coverings, we are more in touch with what grounds us. We can feel things that are masked by shoes and preconceived ideas. 

 

It all makes us more vulnerable. But what I have learned from Ben, is that this is not always a bad thing.