Footprints

“When you see only one set of footprints, it was then that I carried you.”

This phrase is from the poem “Footprints in the Sand”, by Carolyn Carty. I first saw the poem engraved on a decoration piece in someone’s bathroom as a young teenager. It ministered to my heart as I first learned about my dad’s cancer diagnosis at the ripe age of thirteen. I was reminded of those words through his last months on earth and when he passed into eternity when I was seventeen. I clung tight to this promise that I am never alone as I graduated high school, ventured off to college, got a degree, traveled around the world doing missions, and met my husband and got married. His faithfulness toward me remained as a strong anchor through the pandemic, two miscarriages, a season of infertility, the pregnancies and births of my two sons, different jobs, homes we’ve lived in, and places we’ve moved. It’s quite fitting in my opinion that as I am officially getting back into missions, we are joining the Iris base called, Footprints.

If you’ve never read the poem, I encourage you to do so. The whole idea is that sometimes, it may appear in our lives that we are alone - that God has left us or abandoned us. This is only if we don’t understand his character. This is what the man in the poem assumed. When only one set of footprints in the sand were seen, often during the man’s most difficult trials and tumultuous times in life, he assumed the Father was absent. Instead, God’s response reveals that he is a Father who is deeply devoted to our well-being. “It was then that I carried you.”

He is with us all the way. Through all of life’s seasons, he walks with us and carries us during the toughest times. We are never alone. In fact, he is much nearer than we could ever think. “For in him we live and move and have our being.” -Acts 17:28 He is closer than our very next breath.


As we transition to full-time missions as a family, we are filled with hopeful expectancy for all that God will do here and all that he will teach us. It has been one full week since those airplane wheels touched down on African soil, but it feels like we have already been here much longer already. The first thing I am learning very quickly being back here is that time moves much slower here. Nolan and I decided it’s because in the States, we often keep ourselves so busy, without even realizing it, that the days slip by without much notice. Here, even when there are tasks to be accomplished, life moves at a slower pace. We are not filling the empty space with social media, screens, podcasts, schedules, errands - the constant communication and noise that never seems to stop.

It takes a minute for our bodies to adjust to the slowness. It quite literally feels like a dopamine detox as we step away from our phones, let Kai run around with the other children here, sit beside the people around us, and listen. What a beautiful reminder to “be still and know I am God.” - Psalm 46:10. It does feel much easier to do that here, even with the constant pull of being parents to small children. I am thankful for this new season in Africa for this way of life to sink deep into the core of my being. I pray I can learn to abide in this place with the Lord wherever my life may lead and I pray that for you as well. Whether you are in the States, the Western world, or some foreign nation somewhere, we were created for communion with Him. It is possible everywhere. That is the beauty of the gospel. We have a God who speaks. We have a Savior who destroyed religion so that we could have full access to God. The real question is, "are we listening? Have we taken the time to recognize his footprints in the sand?

Beloved, come away with me.
You are loved beyond measure.
Creation sings of the expanse of my love toward you.
My affections stamped by my blood shed for you.
Turn your gaze upward, away from the pull of the world. It is shifting sand.
My love is steadfast, faithful, as sure as the rising and setting of the sun.
I only ask for your focus. Your gaze.
You become what you behold.
Behold me, Beloved.
In my eyes you will find all that you need.
A faithful Father, embracing you.
All else falls to the wayside.
Stay here. Remain. Abide.





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Africa, Pregnancy, and Refiner’s Fire