Another way to look at "Footprints"

I was recently talking to a friend of mine about the Footprints poem. When he mentioned the story, I was reminded of a client of mine who had lost his wife recently to breast cancer. He had cared for her for 17 months while this cancer grew in her body. He had just buried his wife a few days before he came to see me for a massage. It was one of those times where right away we could tell that we were both members of the church and that it was no coincidence that he was scheduled with me. Anyone else could have massaged him, but he was scheduled with me and it seemed to be what both of us needed. He needed the relaxing massage and I needed to hear about his experience. Anyway, he mentioned the Footprints poem to me:

One night a man had a dream. He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord. Scenes from his life flashed across the sky and he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand, one belonging to him and the other to the Lord.

When the last scene of his life had flashed before him, he recalled that at the lowest and saddest times of his life there was only one set of footprints. Dismayed, he asked, "Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, you'd walk with me all the way. I don't understand why, when I needed you most, you would leave me.

The Lord replied, "My precious child. I love you and I would never leave you. During your times of trial and suffering when you saw only one set of footprints... That was when I carried you."


But then my client said to me, "I think of that poem a little differently. I like to think of lots of sets of footprints in this sand. They are all of the people who are put in our path while we are going through trials. They are, of course, friends and family...but also visiting and home teachers, bishops, people who bring you meals...(and the list went on)." He went on to say , "some of the footprints are deeper than others. But these are the people who carry you. It's why we were given stakes and wards. It's why the church was organized the way that it is. And then gradually, as we heal and need these people less and less, the footprints begin to fade (though these people will always be there for us when we need them). And when we are strong enough to stand again and have grown and learned, then we are ready to be a set of footprints for someone who needs us to carry them."


So there have only been a few times when I have cried while giving someone a massage, but this was one of them! He had just lost his wife but you could tell that his spirit was so strong. I just think that is a beautiful, different way to look at that poem that we all know so well. And I will leave it at that:)

An early thanksgiving:)

I've been a little stressed and overwhelmed these days. Lots of things going on. I hate the feeling of a little cloud hanging over me so I've been trying to count my blessings. One specific thing keeps coming to mind. Actually it's several things but...you'll understand in a second. I am so thankful for the people in my life that lift me up and make me stronger through their examples. (FYI-that sentence was so hard to type with tears in my eyes!) I have been so blessed to know these people. Family, friends, clients. People who have overcome physical challenges. Some have overcome spiritual challenges. Some just wake up and try their hardest to be happy, even when going through the most difficult trials one could face. Some keep an eternal perspective. Some just smile. Their stories are like a kick in the butt for me. Like little reminders to keep moving forward but also to slow down and to love & enjoy things. I won't go into detail about their specific stories because we would be here all day. Most of these people may not know I look up to them. But....I do. I hope to absorb their wonderful qualities so that I can be a better example to others:)

Jack Handey...again:)

I remember I was hammering on a fence in the backyard when Dad approached. He was carrying a letter or something in his hand, and he looked worried. I continued to hammer as he came toward me. "Son," he said, "why are you hammering on that fence? It already has plenty of nails in it." "Oh, I'm not using nails," I replied. "I'm just hammering." With that, I returned to my hammering. Dad asked me to stop hammering, as he had some news. I did stop hammering, but first I got a couple more hammers in, and this seemed to make Dad mad. "I said, stop hammering!" he yelled. I think he felt bad for yelling at me, especially since it looked like he had bad news. "Look," he said, "you can hammer later, but first-" Well, I didn't even wait to hear the rest. As soon as I heard "You can hammer," that's what I started doing. Hammering away, happy as an old hammer dog. Dad tried to physically stop me from hammering by inserting a small log of some sort between my hammer and the fence. But I just kept on hammering, 'cause that's the way I am when I get that hammer going. Then, he just grabbed my arm and made me stop. "I'm afraid I have some news for you," he said. I swear, what I did next was not hammering. I was just letting the hammer swing lazily at arm's length, and maybe it tapped the fence once or twice, but that's all. That apparently didn't make any difference whatsoever to Dad, because he just grabbed my hammer out of my hand and flung it across the field. And when I saw my hammer flying helplessly through the air like that, I just couldn't take it. I burst out crying, I admit it. And I ran to the house, as fast as my legs could take me. "Son, come back!" yelled Dad. "What about your hammer?!" But I could not have cared less about hammering at that point. I ran into the house and flung myself onto my bed, pounding the bed with my fists. I pounded and pounded, until finally, behind me, I heard a voice. "As long as you're pounding, why not use this?" I turned, and it was Dad, holding a brand-new solid-gold hammer. I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and ran to Dad's outstretched arms. But suddenly, he jumped out of the way, and I went sailing through the second-story window behind him. Whenever I hear about a kid getting in trouble with drugs, I like to tell him this story