There is a coupon in my inbox for 25 per cent off at my local shoe store. I don't buy shoes but once every five years or so. Still my daughter's wedding is coming up and it is time to indulge. I would not be able to navigate heels without spraining my ankle, yet the occasion seems worthy of something dressier than Berkinstocks. Although it is in the mountains of Vermont, but still. 

Back in high school the girls in the dorm borrowed each other's shoes a lot. It expanded all of our choices, and besides it was fun. They didn't always fit, but we could hobble through a date for the sake of style. Once on a lark a girl on my floor suggested we trade just one, which gave us matching mismatched pairs. We laughed all day at the reactions. There were no specific rules against it in the dress code so we got away with it. 

Wearing someone else's shoes is a fitting analogy for taking on their experience. It is a recurring plot for comedy shows, and frankly I think God orchestrates it in His own subtle way. 

This week I struggled with a knot in my stomach. A little girl burned her hand on the iron in sewing class, and I felt terrible. More than terrible. As the churning became a constant, I thought about Ben. He suffers from anxiety, and most days I just want him to get over it.

"Be calm. Like me. It's easy."

But feelings aren't easily harnessed, and the notion seeped in that worry makes it hard to be kind. To listen. To understand. To smile.

My prayer is that the blister will soon heal, and after that my guilt. Hopefully the compassion will linger much longer.