It began at the YMCA.
I am not as self-conscious as I used to be. Like acne, it was more of teenage problem that I outgrew with just the occasional occurrence.
Recently, a huge painful pimple of self-image popped up on the nose of my psyche. Why now?! The self-image zit had popped up due to a couple of factors: My 15-year-old daughter just moved in with us, forcing me to remember the awkwardness of adolescence and the high amounts of estrogen in soy milk. (Yes, I have my daily coffee at Starbucks with steamed soy — it is my signature drink.)
To focus at the YMCA, I wear earbuds to drown out the awkward grunts of grown men flexing and throwing around weights as I stare at the floor to protect my eyes from women in spandex. Because my wife works out there too, it is not good to stare at the spandex.
As I gazed at the floor and panted for breath from the fatigue of trying elude my 40s (having a teen in your house also makes you feel old), poor self-image reared its ugly head, when I was hit with the realization that my shoes were out-of-style and ugly. Silly, I know.
Once a stranger to fashion, I now was lured by its potential to hide ugly pimples of insecurity. Guys at the Y were sporting flashy shoes with neon colors! My old shoes made the pimple of self-awareness throb, and I felt as out of place as an Amish man in Best Buy.
That night, I asked my wife, Melissa, to help me find new, colorful shoes. I was on a mission and soon landed the coolest pair of Adidas — adorned with neon greens and yellows. I had found my Clearasil!
I wore my new shoes to the gym and was careful to keep them clean. These magic shoes allowed me to strut out of the middle ages haunted by adolescent insecurities.
I was “in.” It felt good, for a moment.
Casual Friday at work was like the Prom. My shoes were the focus, and I built an entire wardrobe around their charisma. With messed up gelled hair, comfortable jeans, casual shirt and a stubby unshaven face; I intentionally looked unintentional. It takes a lot of care to pull off the “I don’t care” look.
Taking my laptop bag and new confidence, I swaggered over to the Starbucks, leaving the commonplace culture behind and flexing my new confidence.
Blasted by the sounds of reggae music and other self-absorbed customers tersely ordering their no-foam, triple-shot, soy, and extra-hot lattes; my confident eyes scanned the horizon and landed on something that did not fit.
He sat on the curb next to the parking lot in the peripheral view of life. Holding a tattered cardboard sign asking for spare change with his bike propped up on the fence behind him, this young man seemed untouched by the world that was so self-absorbed. I had to go outside to meet him.
Greeting me with a genuine smile, Tom gave me a huge welcome with a rare sincerity. He didn’t notice my shoes, though I noticed his. His carefree attitude made me feel comfortable enough for a moment to sit down with him.
Then, the pimple came back. During our talk, I started feeling self-conscious as people drove by, giving disapproving looks. To show I was “not like him” and stiffening my posture, I literally put my best foot forward, showing all who passed by that I was “one of them.” My membership into decent society was still valid. I wanted them to see that I was sitting with him to “help” Tom.
But was I really?
God humbled me. Tom pointed out his pastor, who was riding on a bike to come meet with him. To meet him on the street? Yes, he peddled up and paused to talk to us. I kept silent, feeling the conviction that comes from being surrounded by selfless folks. When the pastor asked if he could pray for me, I nodded, knowing I needed it.
Looking at Tom’s feet while we prayed, I realized we wore the same-sized shoes. After the prayer and when the pastor left, I asked Tom if he would trade shoes with me.
Tom took off his sunglasses and looked me in the eye. He asked, “Are you serious, man?”
I told him the truth: that God was leading me to do this and it would be an honor. As Tom put on my new shoes, his eyes lit up and smile adorned his face. He was giddy! Standing up, he bounced on them and kept admiring the colors and comfort.
Tom left to ride his bike back to his camp and show them to his dad. Not me. I sat on the curb in tears, while God’s acceptance penetrated the roots of my insecurity. Jesus had asked me to trade shoes with Him. I was unworthy to wear them. So, in humility mixed with repentance, I put them on and walked. They were much more comfortable than my shoes before, and at that moment, I identified with Jesus, not Adidas.
The pimple of self-image was cured by humble self-denial, and not “trying” to fit in is indeed freeing. We all should embrace that as we embrace those who live in our peripheral vision.
Plant City resident Josh Loudermilk is a traveling evangelist who is available to speak to churches and groups. He is the founder of Louder Life. For more information or for booking information, email livelouder@yahoo.com.