Stone In My Shoe

Words: Hannah Kuo

I noticed a stone in my shoe, a little rock of stress lodged somewhere underneath. I was walking in Dwinelle one afternoon, wondering why my shoes made a strange squeaking sound. A weird bump arose every time I took a step.

Eh. It’s probably just the floor, I thought, until I realized it was only my shoes that squeaked.

I tried to turn my annoyance into fun by laughing at it with my friends. It was actually kind of embarrassing, like, who knew shoes squeaked so loudly?

Another time I was walking on the Durant sidewalk and the same thing happened. Except it wasn’t a squeak this time. It was more of a scratch. I could feel the vibration up my leg as the rock of doubt rubbed against the cement. I viciously dragged the bottom of my foot on the sidewalk, hoping to get it off, but the stubborn stone didn’t budge.

Ugh, I really didn’t want to look for the stone, though. Who knew what I stepped in? There was probably some other dirt clumped underneath, unrelated but disgusting. Besides, what could I do about it? It’s not like I had anything to scrape it off with—nothing would change.

Still, I shouldn’t complain about something I didn’t have the guts to face. I cringed as I leaned against a wall and slowly lifted my foot. Nothing gross, to my surprise. Just a small, small pebble in the soul.

My eyes roamed for something to dig it out; it had to be something sharp enough to dig into the thin rubber ridges. I found a ledge—the first step of Dwinelle, the edge of the curb, the blade of the Word. Sturdy and consistent, often overlooked, but exactly what I needed. Keeping this in mind, I aimed, then without hesitation or reservation, pushed the stone against the corner and used my entire weight to drag my foot across.

A small release. I heard the faintest clatter, but it felt like something ripped and my heart stopped. I did another quick check underneath. Clean, the sole’s pattern intact. I walked off, my foot light. I sighed in relief, my heart relaxed. It’s funny how forgotten things are remembered, like unclogging memories of a promised prayer, a dependent vow, a once-passionate heart. My mind drifts away towards what’s ahead: my next class, the near future.

My heart rests in the security that no amount of stones underfoot can keep me from where He wants me to go.