Footprints

Last week, Parker, Kelly's dad, and I were walking on the beach. Parker wanted to show me a very large sandcastle that looked like a foot inside a beach sandle. After walking 25 feet or so, he remembered that jellyfish were washing ashore on the beach. He saw them the last time he walked to the sandcastle.

"I don't want to get stung by jellyfish," he screamed.

I assured him, "It's ok, just hold my hand; we won't walk on the jellyfish."

"No, I'm s-c-a-r-e-d of jellyfish," he said, voice trembling.

Kelly's dad offered a solution: "Parker, just walk in my footprints. I'll walk down the beach, and you walk where behind me where my footprints are."

As Parker followed his Papa very deliberately, I was reminded of how we relate to Christ. We walk where he has already been. His footprints have plenty of room for all of our missteps. He safely maneuvers past the jellyfish of life. We do not miss out on all the pain, but by walking in his footprints, somehow the difficulties of life do not seem quite as severe.

We arrived at the sandcastle, and it was still intact. A discovery together because we were willing to step safely together.