Big Pumps to Fill

By Robin Caldwell

Wrapped in tissue and tucked away in a box is a pair of my late grandmother Irene’s pumps. This particular pair of pumps is hand-stitched and timeless in style. They also cost a pretty penny; one of the few indulgences Irene allowed herself. I’d worn them by now but I can’t; they were purchased for her feet. She wore a size 8 ½ narrow and I wear a 7-wide shoe. Her feet were delicate and slender while mine look like Fred Flintstone’s.

Some of my fondest, most cherished memories of my grandmother involve shoes.

There is the story of the bigoted salesclerk who insulted Irene in a shoe store and in retaliation my grandfather purchased an extremely expensive pair of pumps to please his wife and protect her honor.

Then there was the time Irene snatched off one of her pumps to chase away a man who purposely spat on my patent leather Mary Janes. He thought she was white and amused by his antics until she pointed that stiletto in his face.

One of my favorite stories involves Irene taking off both shoes to run barefoot in the middle of the street to teach her son, Alan, a lesson in humility. My grandmother not only won the race but taught Alan if he was going to boast he needed to back it up.

I loved Irene. Still do. But she had some big pumps to fill.

For years, I didn’t try to fill those pumps because I didn’t see the value. Chalk it up to youthful ignorance and defiance but I wanted to be my own woman. Hard knocks, however, had this wonderful way of extracting bits and pieces of Irene out of me and before I knew it I could see much of her character interwoven in my own. Over the years, I’ve become more like her than not and it is okay.

My grandmother was as close to saintly as a woman could be, in my mind. God knows I tried to be like her but often fell short.

However, one day I woke up and realized that I couldn’t fill Irene’s pumps and that my focus should be on following the sandals of my Jesus. He is the one I am to aspire to become more like, not Irene. Besides there was no way I could fit these feet into Irene’s shoes.

Knowing that I didn’t have to live up to the legacy of a woman—a human being—took a load off of me. Knowing that I had to walk with Jesus and walk out my own uniquely carved path in him was more gratifying. It was like having the best of both worlds without compromise: I could be my own woman in Christ yet still have a piece of Irene living in me.

That was a marvelous gift from God to me. And it is a gift God gives to all of His girls.

Too often we women want to fit our feet into shoes or pumps that were not designed for us. We look at our mothers, grandmothers, friends and even the pastor’s wife as living examples of womanhood. We might even try to walk, talk, and act like them to no avail. And the only reason we do this is because we haven’t found the value in our own pumps - as designed by God.

The only one God wants us to mimic—live like, talk like, act like and walk like—is Jesus Christ. And the blessing is that we are not required to fill his shoes; we are simply required to follow his steps.

This Mother’s Day, in loving memory of Irene I am going to have her pumps encased in a shadow box and placed on my wall. And then one day, I’m going to have a pair of my own shoes encased as a simple reminder of the freedom God gave me to be myself as he created me.

Happy Mother’s Day!