Every Step Recorded

Every Footstep Recorded

Today, I walked my regular four miles on the mile-long trail at Clepper Park. This morning, there was a fresh dusting of snow on the trail, and because I was alone, with no other walkers or runners braving the cold, my shoe prints remained undisturbed. With each mile, my shoe prints from the previous mile(s) were noticeable. 

On my second time around the trail, I noticed my steps had gotten longer. I’d found my pace.

On my third mile, I noticed that my pace was just a little quicker still, perhaps because I had identified the icy places under the snow and walked with a little more confidence. I knew where to step. I had gained wisdom. I also noticed that many of my shoe prints had become frozen to the path, moisture under the snow having mixed with the compressed snow to form icy molds of each step I’d taken. My steps were being recorded!

As I looked at these frozen molds on my fourth mile around, I thought about how I was walking through my history, of how the story of my life over the past forty minutes was indelibly written on the path before me. I read where I had slipped a little. I read where I’d walked more carefully—obvious because my shoe prints were closer together—because of ice under the snow. I read where I’d kept my pace and where I’d slowed. I read where I’d swerved out of distraction or simply to avoid little ankle twisters. The complete Braille-like history of my walk was clearly visible for me and future walkers to read and study, though I doubt anyone cared! 

As I thought about this, the Holy Spirit reminded me that every choice I make on this journey with him is also recorded, indelibly written in his book, that book which will someday be opened and from which my works will be judged. The truth sobered me and humbled me. I haven’t always walked well. 

As I look back over the miles of my life, I can see that I have grown. My pace has quickened. My steps are straighter. I’m stumbling less. It’s not easy for Satan to seduce me from the path now. Grace has taught me—is teaching me—to walk.  

As I walked through this short three-plus mile history lesson at Clepper Park, I also thought of the prayers I had prayed on that first loop, and then the second, and then the third. Aren’t those recorded, too? Everything I’d pondered, every meditation of my heart, every prayer I’d prayed (my morning walks are also my prayer time) was in the past, but in a sense, it was also present—forever recorded and marked by God. All that is history now, I thought, but all of it is recorded, stored up wherever God stores these things. 

This morning’s walk made me want to be more careful of how I walk. My prayer this morning is from Paul’s letter to the Ephesians: “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:15-16).


Heavenly Father, help me to be more thoughtful, careful, and wise in how I walk today, making every moment count for eternity. In Jesus name, amen.

Related Posts

Shepherds Global Classroom Non-formal training curriculum

Shepherds Global Classroom

Shepherds Global Classroom (“SGC”) exists to serve underserved pastors and Christian leaders around the world by providing a unique curriculum for the multiplication of indigenous, informal, and non-formal Bible schools and seminaries. 

Read More
Philippines Training - Shepherd's Global Classroom

Philippine Report

For years, I’ve heard about Shepherd’s Global Classroom and seen their books. But until my recent trip to the Philippines with President Timothy Keep, I didn’t understand the scope of their vision, the urgent need they are working to address, or the impressive network they have already developed in countries across the world.

Read More
Call People To Repentance

Call People To Repentance

When repentance becomes specific, spiritual expectation rises too (Luke 3:15). Repentance is not the goal; Jesus is! Repentance makes the heart ready for the coming of Jesus (Luke 3:16-17). 

Read More
I Cried - Pakistan

I Cried

I cried. I don’t often cry. But last Sunday night, I cried as we drove through the streets of Kasur City, Pakistan.

Read More