I am combat boots.

I am made to war and protect the being that is wearing me.

I am made to stomp, crush and kick anything in my way.

I am powerful and intimidating.

I’ve been around.

I’ve probably seen more hell than many will ever see in their lifetime.

I’ve walked a thousand miles in the pit of despair but I continued on with my purpose and expectations.

I am worn and partially broken but still wearable.

She bought me a few years ago specifically for a purpose. And as she laced me up she told me it was just to wait tables because she was never going to strip again. Anyway, I wasn’t made for the stage. I was made to combat the floor.

I am tall and black and made of strong leather. The laces wind up in front of me to hold me together when I feel like falling apart.

The woman who wears me is beautiful. And there are times I just want to cry over the things vulgar lustful men would speak over her. She would laugh and play along but I could tell when her toes would curl inside of me she was hurting on the inside so deeply she couldn’t breathe.

I’ve been spat on, spilled on, stepped on and kicked. I’ve been thrown and tossed around like no one cares. I’ve been locked in the dark where even if I were able to scream no one could hear me and if they could they wouldn’t care.

I may have a tongue but I am silenced.

I may be strong but I am only as strong as the one who wears me.

Yet I was created to step into combat.

I was created with a purpose of protecting and warring.

She knew this but the enemy had twisted the truth in her so much that she was fighting a battle she thought she could never win.

I tried to protect her from getting stepped on.

I wanted her to know she was worth fighting for.

There was this day she put me away in her closet and shut the door.

I waited for her.

I waited to be pulled down from the shelf for yet another night of walking the floor and trying my best to protect her.

But I was not pulled out.

I sat in the dark.

Each time she opened the closet door there was a part of me that longed to get picked and be worn again even if it was back to the pit of hell. I just wanted to be seen and loved again.

But each time she opened the door I saw something different on her face. She was softer and had this glow about her that I couldn’t explain.

Where she had been numb before there was hope.

Where her eyes had looked dead I saw life.

I would hear her sing a new song as she got ready in the mornings and the songs were beautiful!

Something had changed in her and she was even more stunning than before.

One day she opened the door to her closet and she lifted me up in her hands.

She sat down on her bed and I could feel the struggle in her heart of the memories that I brought to her mind.

She grieved and slow hot tears ran down her face and dripped onto my shiny black surface.

I could tell she was struggling but I wasn’t sure with what.

She set me down on the ground and slid, first her left foot into me then her right foot.

My heart dropped. I didn’t want to go back to that place. I didn’t want her to have to do this again.

She stood up and walked to the full-length mirror and stared at me. I saw the flood of memories run across her face but then something happened I had never witnessed before with her.

A beautiful free smile spread across her face.

She spoke down and directly to me, “You, my friends, are getting a new purpose.”

Her toes curled inside of me but this time it felt different! This time it was with a new found excitement that they curled.

The tears continued down her face but they were those of happiness and restoration.

She stood there and starred and said, “I have a friend who battled and warred like we did together.”

She paused and brushed a tear away with her fingers.

“She was a stripper too and now, like me, she is free.”

She smiled the most beautiful smile as she continued to talk to me.

“We were having lunch one day and she mentioned how she speaks to all kinds of groups and that one of the topics she speaks on she would love to have a pair of combat boots.”

Her toes wiggled inside of me and I got so excited about what I thought she was about to tell me!

“I mentioned that I had a pair that I used to wear in the clubs and asked her what size she wears. You are her size.” She smiled at me.

She contemplated speaking the next part but spoke slowly, “We talked about this several months ago and I’ve been afraid to give you up because I might want to wear you again.”

My heart sank. She knew as much as I did she would never wear me again. She will never walk back into those clubs that nearly took her life. At least that’s what I wanted to believe.

She reached down to untie me and pulled me off slowly one by one. I waited to be set back into the dark closet again but instead she walked me to her car and we drove away in silence.

I am combat boots.

I am made to war and protect the being that is wearing me.

I am made to stomp, crush and kick anything in my way.

I am powerful and intimidating.

Today, I no longer war in a strip club that almost took our lives. We were rescued out of the battlefield and the amazing woman who wore me in the clubs is restored, strong and a warrior!

Today, I get to war on stage showing women and men they are powerful fighters in Christ’s name!

Today, I am worn to remind men and women that our battles are worth fighting and standing for!

We are all warriors.

 

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