I am fairly certain that most of you have read this poem at some point in time but I think it is worthy of rereading. There is a boy named Pompelo (not exactly sure how to spell his name) who I will tell you more about in future blogs who helped teach me something new about this poem. He is a Malawian child born deaf but holds a massive heart. Anyway, more about him in another blog but for now read this poem and then I’ve got a few thoughts for you 🙂
Footprints in the Sand
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many
scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were
two sets of footprints, other times there was one only.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my
life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the
Lord,
“You promised me Lord,
that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my
life there has only been one set of footprints in the sand. Why, when I
needed you most, have you not been there for me?”
The Lord replied, “The years when you have seen only one set of
footprints, my child, is when I carried you.”
Mary Stevenson, 1936
This poem visualizes a beautiful walk with our God where He carries us through the storms where we just can’t keep going anymore. Those of you who know me would agree that I can be stubborn and often times when I get into harder times I feel as though I just have to put my head down and keep trucking until I just can’t anymore. It’s often only been those times that I have allowed Him to carry me. I have felt as though I needed to be out of strength before it was time for me to sustain me.
Well, one day I found myself walking alone along the beach when I heard some noises that are a mixture of shrieks, shrills and other noises that could only mean Pompelo…I turned to see him bounding after me with a ridiculous grin and eyes shining.
Whenever he saw me, he often ran straight to my arms for me to pick him up. He’s about 8 yrs old now but finds no shame in being held whenever I would come and swoop him up. So there I was looking down at a child with joyous expectation and arms held straight up. I proceeded to pick him up and walk him the length of the beach to a place where he and I could share a coke and a smile.
It was during this time that I realized that our Father enjoys carrying us and isn’t just “willing to when we need it the most” or “have earned it.” Nope…all we have to do sometimes is stop and simply raise up our hands because we just want to be held.
When was the last time you rested in His hands?
