Just Follow My Footprints
He was my person. My grandfather. While I loved the rest of my family there was something special between Paul (his name) and Penelope Prunes (his nickname for me when I was grumpy).
Starting in middle school Grandpa invited me to walk with him. He walked for his health (a few miles several times a week), and no one else went along. Walking, and talking, became our thing. Something we would do together until age robbed his legs of their strength.
When I visited my Grandparents’ house the walks were through their neighborhood and town. It was a time of exploration and stopping to talk to all his friends along the way. When they visited our home the walks were something else.
My childhood home was chaotic and stressful, filled with the noise and energy of my generally unhappy and often unstable parents. Walking out of the house with Grandpa brought peace, stability, and a reminder that there was someone who cherished me.
One autumn weekend the rain had kept us house bound during their visit, and the angry air in the house was stifling. Grandpa told me to get me coat; we were going to look at some of those gorgeous fall trees New England boasts about. In the misty grey afternoon we headed up a small trail in the woods behind our house.
The first fifty yards of the trail were uphill and I found myself slipping on the wet leaves and losing my shoes as the grey mud sucked my feet in. Frustrated I stopped as my seventy-something grandfather scrambled up the hill.
He turned, winked at me (his winks were a secret language in and of themselves), and said, “Just walk in my footsteps.”
I slowly hopped my way up the hill from muddy boot print to muddy boot print. By the time I made it to the fork in the path at the top, Paul had disappeared into the golden cascades of leaves.
I paused.
From somewhere to my left a voice, “Just follow my footprints.”
There in the muddy trail littered with flame colored leaves, his bootprints led the way.
Even now, as a adult, I find myself thinking of that moment. The moment where what lay behind me (our chaotic home) did not feel inviting or safe and yet I was unsure of where to go as the paths disappeared into unknown territory.
And Jesus whispers…Just follow my footprints…I am the way (John 14:6).
Sometimes we want flashing red arrows or a clear path of muddy boot prints through our lives…an easy trail with easy answers. And still Jesus beckons, just follow my footprints.
Here’s the kicker.
To follow Jesus you have to know Him, spend time with Him, and read His Word. His Word. He is the Word (John1). His footprints are there…He tells us how to love, what truth looks like, what please the Lord, and how to talk to Him.
Sometimes, I’ll admit, I wait for the flashing red arrows or feel frustrated when the way is murky and I feel unsure.
The pause at the top of the muddy hill allowed me to hear my Grandfather’s voice…it allowed me to understand the way I should go.
So when the arrows don’t come, pause.
When you aren’t sure which way to turn, pause.
When you can’t go back (or don’t want to) and you aren’t sure what lies ahead, pause.
Pause.
Sit with Jesus (open your Bible) and listen.
In time you will hear….
…walk this way…