Walk a Mile in My Shoes
Three-year-old Amy pulled a pair of shoes from her mother’s closet and slid her bare feet into them. Of course they did not fit, but that made little difference to Amy. She felt grown-up flopping down the hall in the shoes, a big smile etched across her young face.
“Oh, Amy, not my new shoes,” her mother groaned as Amy entered the kitchen. “I haven’t even worn them yet myself. Take them off this minute!”
“But they’re pretty. Can I wear them to church tomorrow?” Amy asked, undaunted by her mother’s obvious displeasure with her.
“Of course not! They are shoes for mothers, not shoes for little girls. So, give them to me,” her mother said.
Amy’s face crumpled into a sad frown.
“You said I had to share my toys with Rebecca,” she said softly looking at the shoes.
“That’s right, but what does that have to do with your wearing my new shoes,” Mother asked.
“If I have to share my toys, you should share your shoes,” Amy mumbled.
“It is not the same thing,” Mother attempted to explain. “The shoes don’t fit you, and you will just ruin them. Then, I won’t be able to wear them.”
Amy replied, “Rebecca broke my doll, and now I can’t play with it. But you still make me share my other toys with her.”
Mother stared at her young daughter, disbelief, tinged with an little pride, creeping across her face.
“You’re right. Let’s go pick out a dress to wear to church that will match those shoes,” she said with a smile.
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