Taking Off Shoes

One of the first things I noticed about Brent is that he took off his shoes whenever he entered someone's home-- even my college apartment. I didn't think much of it, until one time, as we were heading out, he realized he had left something in the apartment, and instead of just running in and out, he took off his sneakers, ran in to get what he needed, and then amazingly slipped them back on in a jiffy. This guy was serious about taking his shoes off!! And as our relationship got more serious, I knew this was something we needed to talk about. If we got married, what would our home be like?

I grew up in what I suppose is a typical American home, which means we wore our shoes in and out and often kept them on all day.* And even when I would take my shoes off to relax, sometimes I would purposely put them back on if I was going to be on my feet for a long time-- cooking a labor-intensive meal or cleaning for a couple hours.

But Brent was raised by a Japanese mother and American father, who fell in love with his future wife's culture before he had even met her. As to be expected, they raised their children to take shoes off at the door. (In fact, their house has a large mudroom with a huge cupboard that stores everyone's shoes downstairs. Brilliant, if you ask me.) For Brent, this habit was further reinforced on Brent's mission to Ukraine, where the culture also dictates taking off shoes. So he has always lived this way and does it without thinking. He even has a handy dandy shoe horn on his key chain (which he got in Ukraine) to help him get his shoes back on in a flash.

Brent imagined his future home the same way he was raised, and I wasn't opposed to that. But I also wasn't sure I could really change my habits . . . and couldn't help but think that it seemed a bit of an inconvenience.

Our courtship proved a testing ground. From the beginning whenever I visited Brent's apartment-- and eventually when I visited his parent's home-- I always took off my shoes. But as our relationship progressed, I decided I should really try it out and started taking my shoes off in my apartment. I'm not sure how much my roommates liked my shoes by the front door, but it wasn't as inconvenient as I had imagined. And I realized I could do this.

But things really clicked for me the first time I cleaned my kitchen floor after we got married. I had lived in BYU student apartments for 7 years, and I had cleaned many, dirty kitchen floors. Dirty as in the mop or rag gets black in the process. However, when I finally washed our kitchen floor-- after living there much too long to admit to my mother-in-law who reads this blog (and who wipes down her kitchen floor every day)-- the wash water was hardly tainted and my white rag was still white! I couldn't believe it. You mean, I could get away without mopping for that long and still have a practically spotless kitchen floor? I knew it was the shoes-- or lack thereof. And anything that helps me clean less is a great plan to me!

But the thing that I love most about taking off shoes is the symbolism of it. When you come into our home, you leave the dirt of the outside world outside. Similarly, I hope our home can be a refuge from other kinds of dirt in the world-- a safe place that is free from immorality, consumerism, strife, bigotry, and anything that is crude.

Today, just to test my theory, I washed my kitchen floor and the tile in our front entryway. Kitchen floor rag: white. Entryway rag: black. But as much as it pleases me to have clean floors, it is so much more important to keep my mind, words, and actions clean. I have to keep working on that one.

* I know there are plenty of American family who do take off shoes, but I would argue these tend to be more rare.