Footprints In The Sand

Last night I had a dream. I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Across the sky flashed scenes from my life. For each scene, I noticed two sets of footprints in the sand: one belonged to me, the other to the Lord.  

After the last scene of my life flashed before me, I looked back at the footprints in the sand. I noticed that at many times along the path of my life, especially at the very lowest and saddest times, there was only one set of footprints. 

I took a picture with my iPhone as proof.

I took a picture with my iPhone as proof.

This really troubled me, so I asked the Lord about it. "Lord, you said that once I decided to follow you, You would walk with me all the way. But I noticed that during the saddest and most troublesome times of my life, there was only one set of footprints. I don't understand why, when I needed You the most, You would leave me."

The Lord replied, "My son, my precious child, I felt like you needed a little pick-me-up. So I went to buy you a Slushee from the vendor on the boardwalk. But I came back. I mean, look further down the beach -- there are two sets of footprints."

I hate to say it, but I didn't buy it.  Something about the way the Lord spoke -- a certain shiftiness in His gaze -- made me suspicious.  

And besides, as I told him, "I don't remember any Slushee."

"Or I got you an ice cream bar, or something," He said, hurriedly.  

"But if you keep following the footprints," I said, "down there, past the jetty, there’s only one set of footprints again."

"Where?" the Lord said -- to buy time, I think.

"Down by that woman in the red bathing suit.  Eating the sandwich."

"That looks like a good sandwich," said the Lord.

 "There’s no ice cream vendor down there.  So where did You go?  I remember feeling especially bummed at that point in the journey of my life.  Why is there only one set of footprints?"

"I was -- I was levitating," said the Lord. "I was floating beside you."  

I looked at the pathetic set of footprints. "Sorry, Lord, I don’t remember that, either."

The Lord took a deep breath. "Okay, to be honest, you can be a real drag sometimes. And you tend to store up these little slights, and harbor them like some squirrel with his nuts -- and when you don't get your way you dig up these slights and bombard people with them. Me, your various boyfriends, your family. It's a tendency with you I’ve noticed for a long time, and I need to call you on it. I clearly remember the day we walked past that woman in the red bathing suit, and I wasn't having it. You were ranting about how you didn't get mentioned in some review of a production of Avenue Q: School Edition in Nebraska and there was a hurricane-ravaged coastal city suffering at the same time, and I thought it was a ridiculous waste of time to be there walking beside you. I was tired of feeding your narcissism, frankly, and I needed some time for Me."

I was ashamed. "Forgive me, Lord."

"But look further, my son," He said, "I walked beside you when your family dog Drummond died."

I scanned the beach.  "Where was that, Lord, in the journey of my life?"

"Down by the guy with the cooler, selling the beer."

Now I remembered.  The Lord was especially comforting that day.

"And when you broke into your ex's Gmail account to read his emails and he was making fun of your receding hairline -- see? My footprints are right there," said the Lord. "And I was there when you had that corn on your foot, remember?"

"That was a bad corn. I almost needed surgery for that."

"My blessed, precious child, when you had that corn, if you look, you can see only one set of footprints.  For it was then that I carried you."