I stared at the ugly brown shoes my mom had just bought for me. “You’ll grow into them,” she said cheerfully, not noticing the horror on my face. They were two sizes too big, and definitely not cool. Every kid at school wore sneakers with flashing lights, stripes, or big-name logos. But me? I looked like I’d borrowed shoes from someone’s grandpa.

I begged her to return them, but she gave me The Look—the one that meant the discussion was over.

Monday morning came fast. I shuffled into school, hoping nobody would look down. No such luck. Right away, Jacob—aka King of Cool—pointed and laughed.

“Did your feet shrink or something?” he snorted.
My face burned. I wanted to disappear.

At lunch, I sat alone until my friend Marcus came by. He plopped down beside me and said, “Nice shoes.” I gave him a death glare, but he shook his head. “No, seriously. My cousin wears ones just like those. He calls them his ‘miracle shoes.’”

I rolled my eyes. “What does that even mean?”

He leaned in. “He used to not have any shoes at all.”

That hit me hard. I’d been so focused on what I didn’t have, I forgot to be thankful for what I did.

Later that week, our teacher read a verse in class:
“Give thanks in all circumstances…” (1 Thessalonians 5:18)

I glanced at my shoes and smiled. No, they weren’t cool. But they were mine. And they reminded me of something more important than fitting in—being grateful.

Now? I still wear them. Not because I love how they look.
But because every time I put them on, I remember that God provides—sometimes in ways we don’t expect.