A Lesson Learned from a Quitter Sock

You know how it is with quitter socks. From the moment you first favor them with the clothing of your foot they fit loosely and don't seem to cling to the form of your feet. When you first put them in shoes, they surely put up a smooth front at first, holding up until you speed up your pace, and then beginning their foolish creep, down your foot, into the toe of your boot. The temptation is to stop every few feet and pull them up, fixing the problem momentarily, and yet it really is a fruitless endeavor, ending in you dropping behind, constantly worrying, and continually focussing on the uncomfortableness.

There is the always the point when one gives in and must accept the quitter sock. To be sure, it is rather a claustrophobic feeling as it wiggles its way down to keep your toenails company, and you will notice that your heel gets cold as it comes in contact with the cool and slippery sole of your shoe. But then with the acceptance comes the ability to cope, and the determination to keep up, and the gratefulness for the other sock that hasn't quit.

Could it be that God allows us a few "quitter socks" just when we are confident that all our foot-clothings are new and in working order? Could it be that we take our waking moments for granted, our spiritual and physical nourishment, our warmth? Could it be that quitter socks test our endurance and enable us to wind our eyes around the trees and focus on the top of the mountain, pressing on and forgetting our discomfort in view of the glory? Could it be that quitter socks are an opportunity for Thanksgiving?

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And why not thank Him? Thank Him for the socks that haven't yet quit, yes, but thank Him more for the joy of the race, and for the mountaintop, and for the experience promised upon the mountaintop where we shall finally see Him, and thank Him face to face.