These boots are not your average boots.
Believe it or not, I really like boots.
They’re just hard to get on rather large feet…
But I do love boots. I love how the wooden heels sound on hard floors. I love the leather, inlays, and stitching. I just really like shoes in general.
These boots are different though.
These are boots I had looked at for months with the black inlay & intricate detail and they have sparkles on the top.
These are boots I had put in my cart online, and then just exited out of the window because I just couldn’t bring myself to buy them.
These boots did not come into my posession in a way I had ever dreamed they would, nor in a way I remotely liked at all really.
These shoes come with tears, hurt, but they also come with knowing one of the strongest walks of faith I have ever seen.
These boots have seen love, they have seen pain like no other, and they have seen healing.
These boots belong (yes present tense because I’ll always think of them as hers) to a dear friend who was healed and went to be with Jesus after a battle with lung cancer.
Why she was chosen to be taken so young we will never know, except for the fact that her faith in God was so strong and such an example to others through her entire battle.
I was given the priviledge to have a few pairs of her shoes because we wore the same size.
Whitley’s sweet mom let me go through them, and pick a few pairs. Heels, wedges, and then she told me about these boots.
Whitley wore them to see Lady Antebellum (if I remember correctly) during her battle with cancer, and her mom wasn’t originally going to let them go but she did.
So I came into posession of the boots I had been looking at for months.
I also came to know true, prayerful friends; and what I knew I needed to be for my other friends and how I had ultimately failed them for so long by not being that praying friend.
Her mom told me how she had been going through Whitley’s things, and found her prayer journal. She’d of course read it.
She wanted to tell me that she’d seen how her daughter called out all of us in her prayers; but she distinctly wanted me to know Whitley was specific.
Whitley called out my name after seeing me cry one night at a Wednesday night youth group. I remember her mom telling me she read Whitley’s writing saying she was praying for Hannah and how she didn’t know what it was but she was praying.
Y’all. Those are the friends you need whether you like it or not.
I left. Got in my car. And cried. How do you follow that up with hearing how your name was called out specifically like that. You can’t just say “oh that’s nice.”
Or thank you. That’s not how that works.
No words are significant enough.
Just oh my heart.
So every time I wear these boots or any of her shoes I’m so lucky to have, I always think how the fashionista herself would have walked so confidently in them and how she’s parading the streets of Heaven.
Sometimes I wonder what shoes she’s wearing there. You just can’t help but think about those sorts of things when you inherit earthly posessions of someone you so admired and someone with the fashion sense of Whitley.
Can I ever fill these shoes as she did? Absolutely not. That would be such a false hope to ever think I could stand where she stood.
But can I make sure that every time I wear these that I think of her and the expectations of a praying friend and the grace she radiated—absolutely.