A sole worth saving . . .

Today  Nelson Mandela's body gave up after a lengthy battle.  His final well-deserved rest was slow in coming. But Mandela was accustomed to long battles and tortuously slow victories. And there were glorious triumphs in his earthly battles  won ultimately with strategies of peace, forgiveness and reconciliation, battles that spanned decades.  Almost three decades in prison while he waited..  The news will be full of details of his exceptional place in history, so I'll refer you to the historians lest I mess it all up.

I was in Jo burg, South Africa a few years ago with Vann, Meredith and Anna at a Methodist Youth International Congress. During the trip we learned much about Mandela and the history of South Africa. We visited museums dedicated to the history of apartheid in South Africa and Nelson Mandela. We visited Soweto and caught a glimpse of the sad human condition that has not yet been resolved, but to which his life was dedicated.

And we visited a house where Mandela once lived. I am not a fan of these kinds of museums.  It seems so intrusive. So personal.  It could have been anyone's house. I remember only one vivid image from that house.

In Mandela's bedroom his shoes were on display,  obviously cleaned up and in a neat row.

I remember thinking he had really small feet.  And it seemed odd.  Why do you save someone's shoes?

They were just shoes. The floor of my closet looks similar to the display, except not as organized. I doubt anyone would save them.

The only thing special about the smallish shoes were where they had been, the places Mandela had chosen to walk,  where Mandela had stood, marched, suffered, and ultimately led others as they moved on a slow, arduous, historic journey.

I am moved by Mandela's life and death like millions of others, grieving for the loss of a extraordinary human, inspired by the difference one human can make.

 And wondering where I should walk, and with whom, that would cause someone to think my shoes worth saving.

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