Angels
House
© 2007 by Tony Hearn
Chapter Three
Those tennis shoes were different! They had a
certain extra bounce. I became aware I was not alone. They possessed a . . .
well, let me just say, they had minds of their own. Often, they took over, and
they took me to places I had not intended to go. The morning after I gave away
the $20 bill, and after I put on the tennis shoes, I experienced for the first
time in my life a new energy, emanating from my footwear. I was never
thereafter allowed to drag my feet. Though my heart grew often weary, my feet,
clad in those tennis shoes, stepped out boldly. It was as if I was wearing a
couple of young hinds, seeking high places.
Those tennis shoes knew where to lead me, but,
sadly, I had a mind of my own. I was not totally docile. I could, and I did,
too often, shed the powerful footwear. And, too often, I struggled against
their influence to go my own way. They allowed me to tread down too many wrong paths, loyal, though saddened.
They knew full well that I was wasting my strength. If only those shoes had a
mouth between them to tell me where we, them and I, ought to walk.
In the beginning of this story, let me share,
without further delay, with readers the source of the name "Angels
House." It comes from those tennis shoes. You see, dear reader, the tennis
shoes were, actually, two holy angels: a left angel and a right angel. I got to
know them well. Often, disgusted or discouraged, and even dismayed, I would
throw them against a wall. I, often, threatened to donate them to the Goodwill.
They, often, tripped me. Occasionally, they would knot their laces and I would
fret, struggling to untangle them. Too often, I refused to put them on. I would
either go barefooted or wear dress shoes, anything to escape their influence
over my feet and, of course, me.
Many persons have asked me where the name
"Angels House" came from. "Shouldn't there be an apostrophe,
plural or singular possessive?
"No!" I would respond. "It's plural.
It's not possessive!"
Those who would query me would, and still do, shake
their heads. (And, of course, those who refuse to believe the origin of the
name butcher it by making the name into a singular noun.)
You see, those two tennis shoes – my left and right
guardian angels – intended to, struggled to, in fact, guide me in how and where
I was to help others who asked for my help. It was their merciful
responsibility to help me escape from having to stand in a breadline. And did I
show them proper respect and cooperation? No! Wherever they are today, I
apologize! If only I had walked the path set for me!
But, no, I had to complicate finding a way to help
those who asked for my help.
Wearing the tennis shoes, I began the search for how
I would help others. I was thinking "physical" help. Maybe it was
because my own belly led me. I, of course, thought that I had to help others
fill their own bellies. I walked all over downtown San Antonio that and a
series of other mornings after I began the search.
Frankly, Henry Cisneros, when he was mayor of San
Antonio, and his crowd had eliminated cheap space when they gentrified downtown
for the world's fair named HemisFair. I could have followed the tennis shoes, probably,
in San Antonio where I now live rather than wandering all over the country. But
I was determined that the space had to be physical. If I had allowed myself to
be led by my left and right angels, I probably would never have abandoned San
Antonio to search elsewhere. I probably would have been led into a closet to
pray much for spiritual guidance and for eventual attainment of wisdom.
"Oh, if only I had let those tennis shoes guide
me where I should have gone." Only now, a quarter of a century later, I'm
back where I began, almost. I'm now a couple blocks from the Casino Club, at
the Granada. But I grew impatient then, and I got moody, and I got angry at the
newspaper and, one day, several weeks after giving away that $20 bill, I flat
quit my job at the newspaper. I walked out when I was told to design a front
page I thought was in violation of the Code of Ethics of Professional
Journalists.
"Good!" I said to myself. "That's
proof I'm to move out of this backwater town. I will establish a soup kitchen
elsewhere." I had closed my mind to any consideration of doing anything
but actually feeding poor people bread and soup. Would I had realized there is
another kind of bread, the kind the Lord Jesus was referring to when he told
his disciples, "I have food to eat you do not understand."
I, of course, with hindsight, was setting myself up
to wander, and to wander, and to wander. I wandered over to Austin. The shoes,
loyal to my feet, followed my head. I wish my head had followed my footwear. We
had to adapt to the wiles of the capital of the State of Texas. Within a month,
I was in Austin, looking for a storefront to set up a soup kitchen. The tennis
shoes, now looking a bit worn, adapted. They were docile while I, instead, was
supposed to learn docility.
And another thing! I began to pray more! "Help,
Lord!" I would plead heavenward. "Show me the way to the location of
a place to start helping others," I would cry. My shoes would stir, it
seemed to me, beneath my bed.