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I showered and shaved & adjusted my tie. Got there and sat, in a pew just in time. Bowing my head in prayer, I closed my eyes. I saw the shoe of the man next to me, touching my own. I sighed. With plenty of room on either side, I thought, 'Why must our soles touch?' It bothered me, his shoe touching mine. But it didn't bother him much. A prayer began: 'Our Father,' I thought, 'This man with the shoes, has no pride. They're dusty, worn, and scratched. Even worse, there are holes on the side!' 'Thank You for blessings,' the prayer went on. The shoe man said a quiet 'Amen.' I tried to focus on the prayer, but my thoughts were on his shoes again. Aren't we supposed to look our best. When