On a recent Thursday evening, I went to my first Quaker Meeting, anxious to experience silent worship. It was already silent when I walked in the door so I sat down awkwardly and waited for my deep spiritual thoughts to begin.

I have no idea how to be silent, was the first thought that came into my clear and receptive mind. God, I hope I don't fart! was the second. I didn't think these thoughts were what was intended, so I looked toward my fellow and more experienced silent worshippers for cues.

Next to me was a woman, hands clasped and eyes closed. Yes, I ought to close my  eyes. That'll help clear my mind. And soon my mind was so clear that my neck snapped backward as my head lolled sleepily onto my chest. I opened my eyes again.

I adjusted my gaze and stared straight ahead at a spot just above a the head of a woman sitting directly across from me. I waited to hear the voice of inner wisdom. Just look at the part in that woman's hair ... That has got to be the straightest part I have ever seen ... It's impossibly straight ... How in the world did she do that? Catching myself with un-prayerful thoughts once again, I lowered my eyes.

I will not look at others. I will not think about the hairstyles of my fellow worshippers. I looked down hoping that I would finally be able to focus.

Oh, look ... There are my shoes ... My good ol' jungle-mocs ... I love these shoes ... I got such a great deal on them ... These may be the best shoes I have ever owned ... Well these and my Birkenstocks ... I wonder if I could live my whole life just wearing these jungle-mocs and those Birkenstocks ... I could go half the year in jungle-mocs and the other half in Birkenstocks ... Now that is a good idea ...

Then the shoes of the woman sitting next to me caught my lowered gaze. Oh, look at her shoes ... I used to have a pair just like that ... Little black boots I got at the Dexter outlet in Maine ... Now those are a good pair of boots ... I took them to Uzbekistan and wore out the insoles ... that's right ... Lyudmilla's father fixed them for me with some good Russian glue ... then I couldn't get my foot out of them ... Yeah, those would have to be my favorite boots of all time ... No, wait a minute ... Remember that pair I bought just before I went into the Peace Corps ... The kick-y khaki ones with the little sliver of a heel and the laces up the front ... Yeah, they were cool ...  I was wearing them the day I first met John ... And then I wore them on our first date ...  Oh, those were great boots ... I took them with me to the Peace Corps, didn't I ... Gee ... wonder what ever happened to those boots?

Just then my reverie was interrupted when one of my fellow worshippers was moved to speak. She looked at the rest of us with an absolutely angelic smile on her face. She spoke eloquently and passionately of how wonderful it was to be so totally present in the moment.

And then it hit me. I had spent the better part of an hour reminiscing — in glorious detail — about footwear. I realized with great disappointment that I had totally failed at being totally present. Ah, but what the heck. There must be some sort of spiritual value in being able to be so totally present ...  in your own shoes!

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