We Must Take Stock in Our Socks

Perfection is the voice of the oppressor, the enemy of the people. Anne Lamotte

I removed my socks last night, and just before I pulled them off I couldn’t help but notice I had a sizeable hole worn into the sock where the ball of my feet sits, or stands, or whatever it is the balls of one’s feet do when they are enveloped by a stocking.

Normally I would not have noticed such a thing, but darned if it wasn’t the fourth day in a row I had discovered holes worn into the day’s socks. As I sat down to type this I looked at the bottom of my shoeless feet (for I seldom wear shoes or slippers in the house) and I’ll be gob smacked into next week if another one of my footies doesn’t have a hole in it too!

Good heavens. I knew I was “called” to be holy – but to be actually “found” holey as well?

I suppose since I opened the package of stockings from which these came all at once, it makes sense that they would all wear out at about the same time as well. Fortunately, being a soul who knows the frailties of a sole, I have another package of footwear sitting in my dresser drawer. I can only pray that moths and other sock-eating vermin haven’t discovered these fresh goods yet.

It seems life is full of streaks. Back when we had sports (pre-Covid), people would note a player was on a hot streak or a cold streak, depending on his or her success while at bat or shooting baskets. I’d never considered myself much of a streaker, but apparently I have now joined that illustrious band of streaking athletes. I place myself in that category simply because I wear athletic socks, or I wear nothing at all – (on my feet, that is).

Nothing lasts forever, of course. Streaks end; socks get holes; shirt cuffs become frayed; buttons pop off; zippers even lose their little zippities. I lost a zip pull on one of my favorite coats a while back. I loved that coat and had worn it for several decades. It was still in pretty good shape and kept me warm and dry, so I replaced the pull with an extra-large paper clip. After a while, I had to admit it was a functional (though inelegant) solution, but the time had come to buy a new winter coat.

I’ve never been much of a clothes horse. I don’t mind wearing things until they’re past the “worn out” stage of life. I have no eye for fashion. I bought my first leisure suit a year after the civilized world decided leisure suits were ugly and stupid; I simply didn’t know any better. I think it was reruns of The Brady Bunch that inspired that particular choice at the time.

I suspect that could be one reason Jesus suggested we take our cue from the lilies of the field. “They neither sow nor reap, yet even Solomon in all his glory didn’t look nearly as sharp …” 

I wonder what it is about the human psyche that moves us to acquire so much stuff in life, or pursue the latest and greatest gadgets and gizmos. Perhaps Augustine, that wonderfully flawed saint from Hippo (North Arica – yes, that great theologian was an African) had it right when he said, “You have made us for yourself (O Lord), and the heart is restless until it finds its rest in You.”

Maybe we are little more than earth-socks. We’re worn, dingy, and have got holes that need darning. The itch that won’t go away is probably little more than God’s toes poking through those holes and waiting for us to stop long enough so God can stitch us up with love. It’s threads of love that knit us together (according to Colossians 2).

It’s both touching and ironic to think: God does not desire any of us to be damned, but works to darn us here in this life. One could even say, God is Knit-pickie and undy-feeted. 

One “could” say that, but I wouldn’t (at least not while wearing a leisure suit). Let’s just toe the line and love everyone alike here in this, our valley.