I woke up one day. I got dressed and shuffled out the door. Weary,
tired, and bored. During a seemingly insignificant moment (a meeting sandwich)
I looked down at my feet in wonder. What are these feet doing here- in these
shoes? Where are they going? Do these
shiny heels draped by my uniform black slacks point to the passion that lay in
my deepest parts? Does it tell the story of a lost girl turn fierce woman who
battled against all odds to get here?...Only to want to go home and do anything
other than this? Really would I rather clean toilets at home than go in there
telling people who don’t care that they should? I wondered if my feet could
tell another story…the story of one who arches her feet on to her tippy-toes so
that her stature wouldn’t deafen her voice. The story of one who refused to
walk in those nasty generational footsteps and fought- still fights to move
forward with every breath. Her voice is loud and sharp- but does anyone see the
naked ache in her soles? Does anyone see her longing to dance freely without
fear- to dance freely with the God given passion that drives her forward yet
sometimes drives her mad? Passion? Does anyone let their passion drive them?
Does anyone hear the silent tiptoe of excitement creeping up that makes them
open their weary eyes and say “today is the day!”? And do they respond? Or do they do as I do,
and shut it out, shut it down. Do they say, like I do that it is too hard or
doesn’t make sense and therefore must be wrong? Does anyone else look at their
feet and wonder if their feet have climbed mountains and are blessed only to
feel tripped up by the hills? I looked up and took a step forward…into my
reality wondering if my steps have purpose, if my words have purpose, if I am
living in my purpose.
How beautiful on the mountains
are the feet of those who bring good news,
who proclaim peace,
who bring good tidings,
who proclaim salvation,
who say to Zion,
“Your God reigns!” Isaiah 52:7 (NIV)
