We get so lonely anymore. Most baby shoes have some kind of wear to them. Not us. We are still as stiff as the day we were made in the factory. We have never known the warmth of little feet.
The first time it happened was awful. We were removed from the rack at the store with high hopes. And how could we not be happy? We were to fulfill the purpose for which we were made. We would help a child take his first steps in the world. We sat in our place in the special room, nearly beside ourselves with anticipation.
But one day the man whose wife had bought us came into the room. He looked around at all the nice, wonderful things within it. Then, he began to cry, great big tears of a sorrow that knew no limits. And in the next few days everything that was wonderful and good in that room, of which we were the least, was taken away. What had happened was never mentioned, but we knew what it was just the same.
We were grief-stricken. But we were hopeful when we were given to someone else who was expecting a child. This time, it will all be different, we told ourselves. But, alas, it turned out just the same. We were given away, our purpose unfulfilled, yet again.
And thus has the cycle continued. We have stopped counting how many times we have been given away without fulfilling our purpose. It hurts too much to think of how many times it’s happened. Sometimes we wonder if it is really coincidence. Perhaps our mere presence is what makes everything go dark. We pray this isn’t true.
We long for the time when we can fulfill our purpose. We do not want to meet an end, whether by fire, water, or time, without being a part of the best days of a human life. We can pass on happy as long as we help a child take those first, unsteady steps. We have not the heart to think of the alternative
