Most of us have heard the cute little story of the footprints in the
sand. It’s a good anecdote for the way God cares for us in our troubles,
whether you read the version where Jesus danced or carried the
storyteller. But walking along a sandy beach with the ocean waves nearby
is hardly a good analogy for life, especially its difficulties. So I
have a new one. I noticed this footprint and many other like it on
treks through the city. It tells a different story: one etched in concrete.
is home to several thousand people, many of whom are living in slums
and pieced together homes stacked next to and on top of each other. The
average home in this community is the size of a small bedroom in the
U.S., and everyone here has a story to tell. Catherine and I spent part of our
time last week painting the home of a widow whose husband recently died.
She had faithfully served in the church and spent much of her life in
pursuit of loving God’s children. She’s now alone with her daughter. She
cooked me an incredible meal for my birthday (a meal reserved for
special occasions, she told us) and she laughingly called me a thorn
among roses because I was painting with my wife and the other women on
our team. I laughed and said she was probably right.
I met a little 8 year old girl named Roxanne while out walking for
the census the other day. She was missing one of her feet. I don’t know
how she lost it but she had a cheap wooden prosthetic foot that bent
sideways as she walked down the street-tiny steps with long pauses
between each one. We asked if she’d like help getting home and she said
yes, so I carried her to her house. The girl was alone when we left her
at her home, and I wondered how often she made that long trek, one tiny
step at a time to and from school. We’re currently spending time with
her at the ministry center and trying to get her a better prosthesis for
her leg.
On the same day, our interpreter began to share more of her personal
life struggles with us. How her and her husband had difficulty making
ends meet. How she was considering moving to another country to work for
a few years in order to help her family survive and pay off debt. She
cried as we talked and prayed with her and in response to our
encouragement she said, “I know He’s with me, even when I can’t see
Him.”
to get washed away by the tides. He made an impression, and His
footprints carry on in the hearts of His people. Will we make a
difference here? Can we love with every day and every opportunity we’re
given? I don’t care if people remember our names or that we were here,
but I hope that we can leave concrete footsteps in the Spirit that leave
behind the lasting impression and life of the God who loves these
people. Their physical footprints are imprinted into every street. These
lives are weighty. They press into God’s heart with every step and
breath they take. This is why we’re here.
