Martin and the Green Adidas Slides.

Revisiting and updating an August 2012 post.

I didn't head downtown thinking we'd find him.

I loaded up the car with the jogging stroller and a scooter 

and found our way to Oak and Michigan.

This mama simply needed a sanity break.

It wasn't hard to spot him as he really didn't fit in on The Magnificent Mile.
While most were weighed down with Gucci purses and Tiffany bags, 

his was a tattered backpack. 

Wandering on a weekday downtown Chicago affords the luxury of less crowds.

Maddie and I spotted him simultaneously. 

His gait, slow.

His head heavy and it seemed to take every ounce 

of effort for him to shuffle along.

 

It was the shuffle that caught our attention.

Every step seemed painful.

We spotted his feet, 

noticing the cut-out cardboard with strings holding that cardboard 

in place of where shoes should have been.

It was hard not to stare. 

Both feet were gnarled, 

with toes oozing pus, 

bleeding, 

and wildly misshaped.

We slowly passed and within seconds,

Maddie, in complete sadness, said:

"Mom, we have to go buy him shoes. 

Did you see his feet? 

His sign says he needs shoes. 

Why doesn't he have shoes? 

We have to get him shoes. 

We just have to. 

We have the money. 

PLEASE MOM?"

"Oh, I don't know, hunny. 

That's so sweet of you to think of that 

but I don't know what size his feet are. 

And I don't know where we'd even go to get shoes around here."

Excuses. 

Valid, perhaps.

But still excuses.

Irritation dripped,

"Mom, we can ask him what size his feet are. 

There has to be a shoe store around here. 

There are LOTS of stores! 

They're everywhere."

"Maddie, it just isn't gonna work. 

Even if we did figure out what size his feet are, 

every store around here is SOOOOO expensive. 

We're in one of the most expensive shopping areas in the country."

"Mom, if I needed shoes you'd buy me a pair, right?

He needs shoes. 

Why can't we buy him a pair? 

God wants us to take care of people that need help; 

that's what the Bible says. 

We could help him. 

We have the money. 

Why wouldn't we help him?"

{Very.Long.Pause.} 

"You're right, Maddie. 

God has given us more money than we need. 

We should share. 

We should take care of those that can't care for themselves. 

You're right. 

{Another.Very.Long.Pause.} 

"Let's go buy him some shoes."

If I'm being honest, internally I was saying, oh crap. 

There's no Payless for miles. 

What's this little lesson gonna cost me?

"Oh, thank you Mom. 

THANK YOU. 

You know he needs them. 

It's not that he just wants shoes, 

he needs them."

We turned around, walked back toward him with purpose,

casually glancing down

to try to get an idea of his foot size 

and then we took off across the street to Macy's.

It was on the ride up the big fancy escalator to the men's shoe department 

when I realized 

- yet again - 

what it means to let your kids lead the way.

Compassion.

It's Maddie to her very core.

And it has been her whole life.

 

She knew the right thing to do. 

She knew the Bible teaches we should help the less fortunate. 

She knew the reality that money wasn't really an issue for us. 

She pushed for what was right.

The girl would not relent.

She advocated. 

For him.

A stranger.

A person in need.

We settled on these shoes.

Green Adidas slides.

I guess green was in back in 2012?

Because of the extensive damage to his feet, 

I knew we had to pick something that would slip on and be expandable. 

I paid and could hardly keep up with Maddie as she raced through the store, 

anxious to get back to street level to find him. 

She was so nervous that he'd be gone before our return.

We didn't have to look far.

There he was.

Shuffling along.

Maddie turned shy and wanted me to give him the shoes 

but that wasn't going to happen. 

I felt like she needed to be the one to do that. 

They were a gift from her heart, 

and had she not been determined, 

we wouldn't be there in the first place. 

She led the way toward compassion.

We followed close behind him for a bit 

until she finally mustered the courage

and took a couple quick steps 

and came up right beside him.

"Hi sir.

We bought these for you. 

We saw your sign asking for shoes."

He stopped, took them in his hands, and said, 

"Oh, that is so kind of you. 

But my feet need very special shoes because of how they are hurt." 

He handed Maddie the shoes 

and I instantly felt deeply saddened for her. 

She had tried SO hard to help. 

And here he was, 

rejecting her help.

It's as if he sensed Maddie's disappointment 

because he followed that up with, 

"But thank you so much for trying. 

Most people would never even try. 

That means a lot to me that you would do that for me."

Sticking out my hand, I asked him his name.

Up until this point, he hadn't really looked at us but finally,

lifting his head, and looking us in the eyes, 

he shared that his name was Martin.

 "Martin, it is really nice to meet you. 

This is my daughter, Maddie, 

and my son, Jackson, 

and my name is Alysa. 

I am so sorry the shoes my daughter bought didn't work out." 

Again, 

he graciously said it meant so much to him that we would even try to help him. 

He was visibly touched.

I asked how his feet were injured 

and he said in Afghanistan, 

in the war. 

I immediately stuck my hand out again and said, 

"Thank you for serving our country so that my children 

and I can enjoy freedom." 

Both kids shook his hand and said thank you, too.

This is a big deal in our family. 

We go out of your way to thank a veteran for their services. 

Always.

Without skipping a beat he said, 

"Oh, ma'am, I would go again tomorrow. 

I was very proud to serve my country."

I glanced down and saw the price he paid.

We have taught our children that when we are with people 

that are less fortunate than us, 

we look them in the eye, 

we treat them with dignity and respect.

We listen.

We ask good questions.

Always. 

And the kids did just that.

We eventually said our goodbyes to Martin

and quietly turned away,

wishing the shoes would have worked.

Months later, 

Maddie still asked about Martin, 

wondering if we could go try to find him.

Hindsight. 

It's 20/20.

If we ever were to find him, 

I'd probably do things a bit differently.

I'd ask him what shoes he actually needed 

instead of just trying to buy them for him.

I'd ask if we could drive him to Breakthrough Urban Ministries,

where I know they have a phenomenal homeless ministry.

Or to a hospital to get his feet checked out.

I'd ask if he'd like to go out for coffee or lunch

so we could hear more of his story.

Everybody has a story to tell. 

Over the last 9 years I have been praying that we would find him again. 

I know.

It seems impossible.

I think of him somewhat regularly.

I just wish we could reconnect.

I want him to know that he's not forgotten.

That I learned some valuable lessons through our brief interchange.

I want him to know that a little girl's persistence was genuine.

And sincere.

That someone noticed him. 

That somebody cared. 

That someone tried.

That someone was a nine-year-old girl, 

on a hot summer's day, 

in the middle of Chicago,

offering a sweet gift of a pair of green Adidas

to a stranger.

The lessons I learn from my girl.