I can get on my knees and pray all day, but until my attitude is on its knees nothing will be different once I’m back on my feet.

If there’s any redeeming quality that I can find in running away from something, it’s that I’m on my feet. Now all I’ve got to do is alter my direction.

If the road behind me is not growing ever longer, then it is likely that the feet underneath me are not moving any longer. And if my feet are not moving, I have somehow, somewhere traded this most glorious journey for lesser endeavors.

As a child, I would sit at the top of the old towering pine and watch the world gloriously spread itself out at my feet. And it wasn’t until I climbed that tree many decades later that it dawned on me how much I have trampled that world under my feet. And so, maybe I need to do a lot more climbing and a lot less walking.

I feign fullness, but in reality I am achingly empty. And it is because I too often sit at the table of the world instead of the feet of God.