The Sunday Sermonette – Footsteps in the Snow.

      We may have longed for it in December but got our wish in January. Last week, we were reintroduced to snow, the rarest of Gulf Coast weather occurrences. The fluffy, crystallized wonder lacquered everything it touched with its shimmering whiteness.

     While sipping a cup of cocoa and sitting by the living room window in Mom’s old rocker, I was captivated by the whispering wind as it carried sheets of snowflakes across the yard. As the day unfolded, those snowflakes became mounds of snow. It was a sight to behold, a scene of pure wonder that I had not witnessed since New Year’s Day 1964.

     The billowing snow beckoned to me like a Siren. I bundled up and walked to the end of my sidewalk. Then, realizing the snowy concrete would be no friend to my 72-year-old hip if I fell, I gingerly returned to my warm house, peering again out the window in awe at the snow and the cold grey day swirling before me.

     However, the following day, the sun burst forth, painting the sky with lavender, pink, and orange brushes. A winter wonderland was just outside my front door, and I was going for a walk, come what may. Carefully navigating the sidewalk, I set off at a brisk pace. Due to the morning’s silence, I was struck by the eerie peacefulness surrounding me. No cars. No school buses. No people. Just the snow and me. It had hushed the world, so it seemed.

     The thick snow on the sidewalk crunched beneath my sneakers as I walked to the beach. Crunch, crunch, crunch was the only sound I heard. Coming to the end of the block, I stepped onto the snow-covered street, but beneath the snow, something lurked—ice. My sneakers went one way; I went the other way. To anyone watching, I am sure my twisting, Watusi balancing act was most amusing.

     After regaining my balance and continuing my walk, I found it comforting to follow the footsteps of those who had walked earlier that morning. It was not only safer than creating a new path in the snow, but it also reassured me. Stepping in the footsteps, I felt the hard, ice-free, black asphalt beneath my feet, knowing it kept me safe from falling.

     In life’s journey, choosing to walk in someone else’s footsteps can provide a sense of peace and safety in a world that often feels chaotic and unpredictable. But those footsteps might also be hazardous, leading down a path to sorrow and pain. The best choice is to follow in the footsteps of Father God and Jesus. The Book of Psalms gives us this assurance: ‘My steps have held fast to Your paths. My feet have not slipped.’  

     Held fast to the path? Feet didn’t slip? I don’t know about you, but my steps have often led me away from their path, and sadly, my feet slipped many times. Have yours? Thankfully, due to Father God’s love and mercy and Jesus’ redemptive death on the cross, we can brush off the “snow and ice” from the paths of our lives and get back on them. Those who do so will discover the safest, most correct way forward is to follow their example—staying on the right path helps prevent stumbles and failures.

    Walking home, I retraced my footprints. As the snow crunched beneath my feet, an old hymn whispered in my ears:  

Sweetly, Lord, have I heard Thee calling,

     Come, follow Me!

And I see where Thy footprints falling

     Lead me to Thee.

Footprints of Jesus,

     That make the pathway glow;

I will follow the steps of Jesus

     Where’er they go.

Ponder this and go forth.