In Her Shoes
Guideposts|February 2019
In Her Shoes

My sister dreamed of going to see Good Morning America. Now I was doing it for her.

Amber Jones

I settled into my seat in the audience at Good Morning America and stared down at the shoes I was wearing. My little sister’s shoes. Emily had died eight months earlier, a slow, painful death from cervical cancer. I had inherited her gray, slip-on Converse sneakers with white laces. I loved those shoes. I hated them too. Every time I put them on, I was reminded that I wouldn’t see my sister or hold her again for a long, long time.

Emily and I hadn’t been close growing up. We were opposites. She was the type to jump up in the morning and start her day, with GMA on the TV. I liked nothing better than a quiet morning with coffee and Scripture. When she got sick, I flew from New York to her home in Louisiana to care for her. As if the Lord and his love were working through me, our differences melted away, and all I felt for Emily was love.

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February 2019