A Pair of Shoes in the Laundry Basket

By Thomas J.F.

This book is about ordinary life events, experiences, and relationships that can teach you lessons for living a more fulfilling life.
From the Middle East to his family’s hometown of Chennai in Eastern India and beyond, the author shares meaningful insights from what—at first glance—may seem like the mundane.
For instance, children often demonstrate sensitivity to the needs of others far beyond their age. Where adults hide, fearing what the world may think, children reach out boldly to do what they feel is right. Their expressions of love, trust, and loyalty are far more genuine than that of adults. If we only stopped to observe and learn from them, we’d find solutions to problems that plague us.
The author also shares lessons from his long-lasting marriage with Rachel, which has had many ups and downs (but the ups have always been more plentiful). The two are friends and prayer partners with strong, independent views who love each other even when they’re at odds.
Throughout this book, the author argues that no matter how insignificant, transient, and ordinary certain interactions seem to be, you can glean something from them with a sensitive and receptive heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 26, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973640264

Thomas J.F.

Thomas J.F. is the author of several Christian devotions, songs, poems, academic research articles, and textbooks. He lives and works in Muscat, Oman. He is married to Rachel Priyalatha, and the couple have two sons: Abishek and Ashirwad.

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Copyright © 2018 Thomas J.F.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Scripture quotations marked (KJV) taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

Scripture quotations marked (NIV) are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com The NIV and New International Version are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.™

This book is a work of non-fiction. Unless otherwise noted, the author and the publisher make no explicit guarantees as to the accuracy of the information contained in this book and in some cases, names of people and places have been altered to protect their privacy.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4027-1 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4026-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018911561

WestBow Press rev. date: 10/22/2018

Contents

Acknowledgments

Shoes Not Made for Walking!

Father, Forgive Me for I Know Not What I Do!

The Art of Giving

Throwaway People!

Silver Lining

Good Old Times!

Matters That Matter

Rithika, the Little Guru

No Man!

Lifeguard

Never Too Late for a Blessing!

Moving Experiences

When the Mask Falls!

Encounter with an Angel!

Boxer Shorts

The Writing Bug Has Bitten Me!

Camels and Computers

Communication and Conflict

Losing to Gain!

Author of Perfection

Everyone Matters!

Lady Boy Moccasins

A Cover Is Never the Entire Book!

Travel Mercy!

No Answer Is the Best Answer!

Bearing the Burden of Burden Bearers

Web References

To our Lord Jesus, who taught extraordinary truths through ordinary events and everyday experiences.

Acknowledgments

This book would not have happened but for the encouragement of my wife, Rachel, who helped me improve my writing skills; my children, Abishek and Ashirwad; and the many people who enabled me learn important lessons for life.

Muskaan who features in the first Chapter passed away last month, I owe him a debt of gratitude.

I would be failing in my duty if I do not thank the Westbow Press Publishing team for their patience, and support:

Holly. S for excellent line editing

And My coordinators:

Kate Lewis

Chris Varquez

Paul Gabriel

Scott Crenshaw

Robert De Groff

And all those who worked behind the scenes

The events and incidents mentioned in this book reflect real-life experiences and the lessons I learned from those experiences. However, the names of characters have been changed to protect their identity and privacy as required by law.

Shoes Not Made for Walking!

Night flights from the Middle East’s gulf region to India leave at odd hours of the night and reach their destinations very early in the morning. Since the flight duration to the southern city of Chennai—to some of you old-timers, Madras—is less than four hours, you can hardly snooze during the journey. So it was that, after one such trip to Chennai where my family lived, soon after I reached home, I went to bed and woke up rather late in the afternoon. The first thing that caught my eye was one of a new pair of shoes that I had bought for my sons during their previous visit, a few months before, to the country where I worked.

This pair was inside the laundry basket, whereas the clothes to be washed were piled up on the inverted lid on top of the basket. I asked my older son about it, and he said, Ask Ashu.

When I called his younger brother and asked him, he said, I’m just keeping it away from Muskaan!

That explained everything, for Muskaan is our little dog that looks like an angel but, in reality, is capable of giving any monster a run for its money when it comes to aggression-induced destruction; Muskaan chews on everything, including our hands and feet if he feels that we are encroaching on his territory or sometimes just to show who is the boss! Nowadays he even chews up sturdy wooden furniture regularly to show off his biting prowess. He considers the space under all furniture as his sanctum sanctorum, and even if someone bends down to pick up anything dropped on the floor he goes for the kill.

Muskaan came to our house as a little adorable pup, part Lhasa apso and part Pomeranian. And those, I must confess, are the known parts. We had just lost Fenny, a darling of a Labrador pup, to parvovirus. We certainly needed a replacement. Furthermore, the fact that I was going out of the country for a new job on a two-year contract made my family demand that I must get them another animal; in that sense Muskaan was my replacement and he remains so till today. At least that’s what he thinks; he has the unshaken belief that he is the boss of the Thomas household.

Looking at that pair of shoes made me say a silent prayer of thanks for the God-given ability to buy my family gifts that were once way beyond my reach. I travelled back in time to a day when young Ashu was in the upper kindergarten level of school.

The sound of Jyoti urging the children to put on their uniforms woke me up on that bitterly cold morning in Delhi. I realized that I had overslept. Rachel was still asleep, as her asthma would not allow her to sleep at nights peacefully. Jyoti is one of those unfortunate child labor victims who ended up with our family. My mother sent her to help us soon after Abishek was born, as Rachel and I were both employed in a hospital. She took care of our children as though they were her own. Her life of self-sacrifice always reminds me of the events of angels coming down to minister to people as stated in the Bible. It happened to Elijah the prophet, among others, and to Jesus himself. I believe people like Jyoti are angels in human form, as their actions are based purely on love and the desire to take care of others, although life’s circumstances may have forced it upon them. I had an aunt who was also like that, and her daughter was a chip off the old block too. She has left to the better place we all wish to go to someday.

Jyoti came to our parents’ house as a teenager when I was in school and stayed on with one relative’s family or the other. She refused to leave the family to get married and settle down, although she was advised to do so. I wonder if it was really a matter of choice for her. My mother often says that she should have gotten Jyoti married. That makes me think that, sometimes, the kindest souls can become blind to a reality that adversely affects others. As I look back now, I realize that our family was either naive or ignorant to perpetuate the kind of slavery that destroys an individual’s life, worse still that person’s dreams. It is true that, as a family, we did not mean to do so under the notion that we were providing shelter and safety to a young woman who had nowhere to go. She is an equal member of our family now, a sister to both my wife and me. My children who are young men today spontaneously run to her first for their needs; no matter what we do for her it can never equal what she has done for us.

So that particular morning in Delhi, it was not possible for her to take both children to the two different bus stops to catch their respective school buses. I told her to take Abishek while I decided to take Ashu to his bus stop. Once I stepped out with Ashu, I felt the effects of the cold. The terrible, all-encompassing early-morning dense fog had not yet lifted, and I could hardly see beyond our feet. Little Ashu, who was only about five, could not walk fast. But in my hurry to reach the bus stop on time, I half dragged him along. Ashu’s sensitive skin developed rashes during every winter, and the poor child’s cheeks were almost always red during the season. All we could do was apply some oil or talcum powder to his face, which did not really help much. We could not afford skin creams in those days. As I dragged him along, I felt that he was limping; that frightened me out of my wits. I had heard some time ago about a child dying of a sting of a venomous scorpion hiding in the child’s shoes. I stopped short and asked him if there was anything inside his shoes. Ashu shook his head to say no, but I could see the pain in his eyes. I asked him if there was a hole in his shoes, and he nodded. I bent down and lifted his foot to look at the sole. There it was—a gaping hole, the size of a large coin—and the remaining intact part was paper-thin. For how long he’d had to walk in that pair of shoes, I do not know. How he was bullied in school for wearing that pair of shoes day after day, I cannot imagine. The child had kept quiet about it for days or weeks; I’m still unaware how long it was. But he had chosen to suffer the pain silently for some reason. I was upset and felt ashamed for not checking the children’s uniforms regularly.

Working in a Christian charity was not easy during those days; with my financial and