I Really Like You

*Although true stories and real quotes, all names are pseudonyms for the safety and privacy of the women portrayed

“He’s a working man. You can tell by his shoes.” Esma pronounced proudly. Like she had cracked the code. She gazed out the window over a large mocha clasped in both hands, elbows propped on the tabletop. Feet dangling and legs swinging from the high stools. It was a peaceful moment. We don’t get a lot of those in our little group. 

A girl walked by the window. “She’s a student for sure.” It was the loafers that apparently gave it away.

The game? Guess the profession by their shoes. Esme had told us she could figure anyone out just by the shoes they were wearing. That the shoes told the whole story. How worn they were. How new. The style. How tightly they were or weren’t tied. All she needed to see was someone's feet, “but not in a weird way.” 

We, the other session leader and I, asked her to show us her skills. We sat at the Starbucks across from the train station. A prime shoe watching location. We did these little field trips with the guests that came into Azalea at least once a month, and these were some of my favorite days with the women - especially Esme. 

There was one day I was sitting with her back at Azalea, and I got to just listen to her tell me about her week. We joked about a few bits and pieces, and we laughed about me charging her for braiding her hair, and it just hit me - I just liked her. Nothing more to it. I liked her. I liked having coffee with her. I liked her company. I liked sitting in the silence that can only happen with a good friend. I liked being around her. 

I knew before that day that I loved her. I love a lot of the women who come through the door. We are called by Jesus to love, and I want to love each and every one of them because He asks me to and because I feel my heart break for what breaks His. 

But if I am honest, some days it’s hard to like all of them. Some days I struggle to put on a smile and show up the way I know I need to.

Heck, some days I struggle with this with my friends outside of this context.  

Esme knew I loved her. She knew because I had said it but also because I demonstrated it through showing up for the last two years, because I called her when she didn’t come in, because of moments sitting and holding her when she cried, because we had celebrated so many of her victories together, because of hours of building relationship. So I knew she knew that I loved her, but I knew at that moment that I needed to tell her that I liked her too.

“I really like you.”

“What?” Esme said a bit confused.

“I really like you.” I said again. 

“I just like being around you. I like hearing your stories, and I love sitting in this room and hanging out with you. You are an amazing person, and I really like who you are.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I like you too.”

She grabbed my hand, squeezed, and we went back to chatting about nothing. 

We say “I love you a lot” and that should carry weight, but I think there is power in also affirming a joy and delight in being in the presence of someone just living out who they are. 

How amazing to not just be loved but to be enjoyed and celebrated by those around you for being who God made you to be.

“What do my shoes say about me?” I asked a bit cheekily. 

She looked down at my very worn Airforce Ones. Covered in coffee stains and a few holes in the heel. 

She paused. Examined them for a solid thirty seconds and said, “You’re kind, and you care about people.” 

The statement lacked logic, but it made me smile. 

“What about Isa?” 

She had some simple black slip ons. 

“Hmmm…. You’re smart.”

Again, not a profession nor did the look of her shoes simply help her deduce this, but I like to think that both of the statements were true.

More people walked by. Some on their commute. Others were aimless because they were already home. A man ran by. 

“He’s a businessman.. He holds a lot of responsibility.”  It could have been the suit or maybe it was the New Balance trainers. We’ll never know.

We sat for a good hour. Chatting and guessing who people were as they lived their life in front of us. Each their own main character. None of them ever knowing they were a point of entertainment and contemplation for our little coffee break.

As we sat it became less about footwear and more about how we see people. 

She really saw them.

Over the years that I have known her, I’ve gotten to see first hand the way she appreciates and sees people, and this little practice at the coffeeshop window just gave me a deeper insight to what was happening inside her head. It was really beautiful. 

I’ve never walked Luton Town with her and not had to stop to say hello to a friend or compliment a stranger. She holds her own, and yet, even through the hardships she’s faced, often at the hands of men, and women, in this town, her heart is still soft. 

She has a grace for people and a courage to continue that displays in her character in such a beautiful way. And I realized while we sat there, as she guessed professions, and placed a bit of judgement on some individual’s choice in Crock colour, that she had a gift for liking people. 

She likes their particularities, their stories. She saw past fashion choices and questionable spray tans, and wanted to see the person for who they were. The women at Azalea often teach me things sometimes about life and sometimes about myself. And today Esme taught me to see the person and to not just love it because I have to but to like it because it is beautiful.

To learn more about Azalea, the amazing women they work with and support, and the incredible work that they do, click here.