Jasper's Slippers
Nora shoved the heavy outer door shut on the biting wind throwing wet snow against it. Her glasses fogged up instantly in the moist, warm air of the church basement. She waited for them to clear, smelling the odd blend of roasting turkey and damp clothing, then thumped down the hall in her winter boots, leaving a trail of melting snow. For five years she had been volunteering here at the soup kitchen but this was the first Christmas Eve dinner without Jasper. She didn’t know if she could face it.
The din of loud conversations and metal chairs scraping on concrete flooring almost drowned out tinny Christmas carols playing over the loudspeaker. She could tell there was a big crowd of hungry people waiting for their meal beyond the double doors. Exchanging her parka for a well-worn apron, she steeled herself before facing the frantic activity in the church kitchen.
If Jasper were here, this wouldn’t be happening. He’d have everyone organized, doing their jobs, shuffling around in his slippers and that huge apron that came down to his ankles. He was like the flour in his famous gravy, the thickening that brought everything together as smooth as can be. I don’t even want to be here without him.
Still, she straightened her back and walked in to the frenzy of Christmas Eve dinner preparations in full swing.
“Nora! Thank goodness! Here, cover up that wild hair of yours with this,” ordered Hilda, the head cook, shoving a blue plastic cap over Nora’s riot of black curls.
“Quick, girl! Go peel another bag of potatoes. We’re running out already!”
Hilda spun back to the steaming pots on the stove, banging lids and barking orders at her scurrying helpers. Escaping the chaos of the kitchen, Nora made her way to the dark supply room. Pulling the chain on the single light bulb overhead, she came to a standstill, the sight and smell of this dim, dusty space overwhelming her with memories of Jasper.
The card table with the wobbly leg still stood in the corner, next to Jasper’s old easy chair. Because of all the hours she spent here, listening and learning as Jasper introduced her to Jesus, this storage room felt like a holy place. She had used up two highlighter pens underlining verses in her worn, secondhand bible and scribbling penciled notes in the margins. She could almost hear Jasper’s raspy voice, his Scottish brogue bringing the stories alive to her like he could see the scene played out before him.
“Imagine it, lass! All those people ˗˗ more than 5,000 men, women and bairns ˗˗ bringing their sick and lame out to some lonely highland for a healing touch from Jesus. He knew they were hungry so He took a few fishes and oat cakes brought by a wee lad, prayed to His Father, then sat everyone down and fed them all until they were full up, with leftovers besides! Och, He loved them so, did the Lord!”
Jasper was the reason Nora was here instead of dead in a ditch or in jail. Years ago she stumbled into the soup kitchen, drunk and full of anger. He sat her down and fed her soup, persevering even when she knocked the spoon from his hand, cursed at him, grabbed the bread he offered and threw it in his face. Still he stayed with her until she passed out at the table. Those early days of recovery blurred in her memory, except the kindness of Jasper, who saw something in her worth saving and stuck with her through detox. She thought of him as half grandfather and half gnome, with his rosy cheeks round with smiles, his halo of ginger hair turning white, and his bandy legs carrying him from table to table to visit with everyone who came in the door.
He was her bright spot, the reason she braved the loud, unfriendly city streets to come and help at the soup kitchen. Her job was peeling potatoes in the back room. She could never work up the courage to mingle with the crowds in the hall. They frightened her with their rough language and hungry faces, maybe because she used to be one of them. As often as Jasper encouraged her to come out and mix with the people, she still held back, watching him from the kitchen as he wove through the tables with a kind word, a handshake or a pat on the back for everyone. He made it look so easy.
Then suddenly Jasper was gone, snatched away by a fierce bout of pneumonia without even a goodbye. Nora mourned him in her lonely apartment, not able to bring herself to return to the soup kitchen without him there. But today when she woke up, she knew she had to come. Even though he was gone, she needed to be close to Jasper by being where he loved to be, especially on Christmas Eve.
Dragging a bag of potatoes from the shelf and finding a bucket for the peelings, Nora turned towards the low stool where she usually worked, but she didn’t sit down. Jasper’s old chair seemed to hold out its shabby arms to welcome her in, so she thumped down on its lumpy seat instead. She peeled, and cried, peeled and cried, remembering how Jasper’s presence made her lowly task of peeling potatoes seem like a privilege. He told her stories about some of the people who came to the soup kitchen˗˗stories like hers. Jasper made sure she knew God was the hero in these stories of people finding hope, not him. When she looked at him questioningly, he said his job was being the feet. Then he stuck out his gnarled feet clad in a pair of brightly patterned socks and worn slippers, reciting with a laugh, “How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the Gospel of peace with God and bring glad tidings of good things.” *
He told her about Maya and her two little girls, new Indonesian immigrants unable to speak English, deserted by their husband and father. Jasper took them to a church with a largely Indonesian congregation where they found the help they needed to start over. Now Maya worked in an ethnic restaurant while her daughters were cared for at the church daycare. Tyrone was a youth Jasper persuaded to attend a support group to help him leave the street gangs he was caught up in, by offering him a ride to the meetings every week. Now Tyrone was the one mentoring other young men, giving them the support that once helped him turn from a life of crime.
Nora’s thoughts came back to the present when a wet potato slipped from her hand and rolled under Jasper’s old chair. With a sigh she got down on her knees, reaching under the tattered slipcover for the escaped potato. Only it wasn’t a potato her hand came in contact with, but what felt like some kind of soft shoes. She pulled them out, gasping at the familiar sight of Jasper’s old slippers. They were covered in dust, yet there was no mistaking the old-fashioned carpet slippers molded to the shape of his gnarled, arthritic feet. They pained him often, so he changed into these slippers for some relief. How Nora missed the soft, shuffling sound of Jasper’s slipper-shod feet whispering over the floors like a mother shushing a child to sleep.
“Hello, old friends. I’ve missed you.” She gently brushed dust from the slipper’s faded brocade fabric, cradling them on her lap like cherished treasures. “All those steps Jasper took wearing you˗˗I bet you could tell some stories! His feet weren’t beautiful but his beautiful spirit needed them˗˗and you˗˗to carry him wherever someone needed to hear about Jesus.”
Bowing over the slippers, Nora’s tears splashed wet spots onto the shabby fabric while she said thank you to her Savior for Jasper’s life. She turned them over in her hands to look at the scuffed leather soles, smiling when she saw where Jasper had used permanent ink to mark them with a thick cross.
She wasn’t sure she believed in signs from God, but if she did, this would absolutely be one. It seemed as if her beloved old friend was nudging her from heaven, telling her, “Dear lassie, God has given you beautiful feet so you can go and bring glad tidings of good things to those needy people coming to the soup kitchen, just like the Bible verse says. Nora, be the feet!”
She was startled back to reality by Hilda’s loud voice from the kitchen demanding more potatoes. Nora toed her boots off and slid her feet into Jasper’s slippers. They fit perfectly, as she knew they would. She rushed the bucket of potatoes to the kitchen, then stepped for the first time into the crowded dining hall, asking God to help her fill Jasper’s slippers so she could love these people like he did. Her feet were swift and warm as she walked up to a table of strangers.
*(Rom. 10:15 TLB)
Valerie Ronald writes from an old
roll top desk in Portage la Prairie, Manitoba, with her tortoiseshell
cat for a muse. A graduate of Langara College School of Journalism, she
writes devotionals, fiction and inspirational prose. Her purpose in
writing is to encourage others to grow in their spiritual walk.
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