Written by: Sadie Elias
I have a habit of looking down at my feet when I walk. I am casually aware of it, especially when hiking in nature. After about five minutes absorbed by the brown shades of the trail beneath my step, I happen to look up and am surprised by the glory of the natural tapestry before me. Recently, I’ve had an epiphany that my poor sense of direction is likely connected to this habit.
As a child riding in my parent’s car, I couldn’t recall a single detail about the route because I never paid attention to the turns of the car or street. Even now, when walking in new places with other people, I tend to just follow the familiar feet in front of me (and later be of no use when the group is trying to remember the way back).
On the day I moved into the dorm, my mom and I were walking down the hallway, and, as usual, my head was down. I was studying the square pattern of the carpet and mildly concentrating on walking only in every other diagonal square. My mom, a physical therapist, commented on my downward gaze, suggesting I walk with my head and eyes up to avoid aggravating my neck muscles and to adopt an attitude of greater self-confidence. It surprised me. I had hardly noticed what I was doing.
Recently, I have been hearing another voice telling me to look up. When my mind is swirling with questions about how I will complete all the studying I would like to get done — how I can fit in exercise, friendship, sleep or how I can deal with the different struggles that are plaguing me at the moment — I hear Him say, “Look up.” He tells me, “Take notice of the path you are on. Study the people walking around you, see their struggles and bear it with them. See the beautiful colors I have weaved into the people and nature around you. See Me walking in front of you, clearing the way.”
I, like many of you, I suspect, spend too much time looking down at my own feet in many ways. I find myself so caught up with the daily chores, my own worries and just the effort of placing one foot in front of the other that I suffer spiritual side effects comparable to the physical side effects I suffer when I walk looking down.
I miss out on the beautiful scenery, forgetting to drink up the blessings God has placed in my day. I don’t notice who I am walking alongside, forgetting to be truly present for other people and to take the time to give of myself to them and consequently be filled. Ultimately, I become so entranced with my steps, “right, left, right, left,” I completely lose my sense of direction, failing to pause to consider what path I am even walking on — What am I even doing with this major? Why am I even going to Southern? For what purpose do I even live?
Sometimes, it is as if I am simply picking up my feet on the world’s treadmill, letting it move me down the path of life rather than moving forward by the light of God’s directions through Christ’s narrow gate.
That is why I am so thankful that people like my mom remind me to lift my eyes. I am so thankful that God is patient and unwavering to remind me. I am praying I continue to learn to hear and listen to His gentle, chiding voice.
Occasionally, walking down that specific stretch of hallway, the memory of my mom’s words surfaces, and, realizing that I am again looking down at my feet, I smile gently — and look up.