“Try another pair,” she suggested, sliding a shoebox in his direction.
“My flat feet don’t like the arches of all these shoes I’ve tried on,” he
grimaced, and then grinned. “I just can’t “stand” it.”
“Very funny,” Mom smiled as she placed the shoebox back on the rack. “We’ll
look again another day.”
In all of his various boyhood adventures beyond the department store,
Christopher could never escape from the reality of his two flat feet. Not
only did they complicate shoe shopping, they also affected his outdoor
“I’ll race you to Dad’s car,” his younger brother declared.
In their haste, neither of the boys stopped to slip their shoes on.
Jonathon sailed over the threshold of the front door and skipped out onto
the lawn, while Christopher slowed when he hit a patch of poky grass.
“Ouch, my feet,” he mumbled. The soft part of his foot’s sole was just too
tender for running barefoot outside.
Jonathon watched from where he leaned against the car door. “Let me race
you back to the house now!”
Christopher’s one consolation was that in spite of bearing feet as flat as
pancakes, he could clap them as loudly as he could his hands.
“Clap with your feet, Chris, clap!” his younger brother prodded him when
they were left in the living room to entertain company.
Christopher grinned from where he sat cross-legged on the floor. Lifting
his feet into the air, he smacked them against each other whole-heartedly.
In moments like these, young Christopher grew rather fond of his flat feet.
Even if they were a bother sometimes, he tried to look on the “bright
side.” And then one day, his feet made an unexpected landing and taught him
a valuable lesson.
“Too bad it’s such a rainy day,” Chris turned away from the window one
Jonathon’s face looked as dreary as the gray skies outside. “I’m bored.”
“Let’s play indoor trampoline!” Christopher brightened.
“Don’t you remember the last time we jumped on the bed?” Jonathon already
looked guilty as he followed his big brother down the hallway. “Mom got
after us for it.”
“We’ll make the bed afterwards,” Christopher leaped up onto his parent’s
king-sized mattress. “I guess she didn’t like to see the room so messed up
Jonathon seemed to forget his misgiving. Soon the boys were springing
towards the ceiling with glee on the bounciest mattress in the house.
Christopher straightened his shoulders and dug his toes into the mattress
in a moment of inspiration. “Hey, watch this,” he turned to Jonathon.
Clambering up to the top of his parent’s wooden dresser, he steadied
himself for a moment. Slightly bent, he looked up at the ceiling and then
down at his parent’s mattress, set against the opposing wall.
“Here I go!” He catapulted from the dresser. Somersaulting in mid-air, he
flipped onto the bed just where he had expected to land.
“Woah,” Jonathon’s eyes grew wide as he watched safely from the far corner
of the mattress.
Christopher could not stop the movement set in motion from the dresser. As
he flipped, his big flat feet hit the opposing wall with a “boom.”
Sitting up quickly, he looked over at his younger brother. Jonathon stood
on the floor now, his eyes closed tightly.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Christopher asked, rubbing his sore feet.
“Please tell me that your flat feet didn’t just go through the drywall,”
Christopher turned to stare at the wall. The unified force of his flat feet
had broken through! “Uh oh,” he breathed. “No wonder my feet hurt!”
“What’s going on?” Dad appeared in the doorway. “It sounded like a canon
went off in here!”
Dad examined the hole in the wall and listened to the woeful tale of the
wild leap from the dresser. “Boys, you shouldn’t have been jumping on the
bed to begin with,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathon bowed his head.
“Me too,” Christopher nodded.
Dad drove the boys to Lowes where they learned about the proper tools and
materials needed to fix the big hole in the wall. With a little watchful
help from Dad, Christopher repaired the spot where his feet broke through.
“There,” Christopher announced as he finished painting the replaced
“When this paint dries, we won’t be able to tell where you even hit the
wall,” Jonathon exclaimed.
“Guests won’t be able to tell, but our family will always know,” Dad spoke
“Are your feet still sore?” Jonathon turned to his older brother.
Christopher shrugged. “They are a little. I like my flat feet when I can
make people happy with them, and then at other times, I wish they had a
normal arch.” He motioned to his brother with a paintbrush. “Like yours.”
“Dad,” Christopher turned to his father. “If only my feet weren’t so flat.
Maybe they wouldn’t have crashed through the wall like they did.”
“God has made us all unique,” Dad responded. “We can use our gifts – or
handicaps – for good, or for bad. What we do with them is our choice.”
“What do you mean?” Jonathon piped up.
Dad continued. “Christopher has the choice to view his flat feet either as
a bother, or a blessing. If he thinks about the inconvenience they cause
him, they will become a real trial in his mind. They may even rob some of
his happiness in life because he wishes that he were different than how God
Christopher spoke thoughtfully. “I really don’t want to go that route,
“Then think of your feet positively.” Dad winked. “Instead of trying to run
barefoot outdoors and making wild leaps from my dresser – where your feet
get you into trouble – be thankful that you have feet. Use them for good.”
“Like, when I make people laugh with them?”
Dad smiled. “Yes. That’s more like it – when you clap with feet.”
Christopher straightened his shoulders and dug his toes into the carpet in
a moment of inspiration. “Well Dad, I’m choosing to be thankful for my flat