Where My Feet Are

Where My Feet Are

Part One: Solitude in the Stillness

This morning began in the early darkness, long before the world stirred. I stepped out alone around 4 a.m.—sweatpants and sweatshirt layered on—embracing the heat of discipline and the stillness of a quiet neighborhood.

Mission Drive was empty, calm, and peaceful. The streetlights cast their soft glow, and the only sound was the rhythm of my steps. The sky was still dark, but I could feel the promise of light ahead. These solo walks are where I speak to myself, not just listen to my thoughts. It’s where I’m reminded of who I am.

There’s power in that kind of solitude. No distractions. Just me, the road, and presence. It’s not about getting somewhere. It’s about showing up and being fully here. The stillness speaks. The silence becomes sacred.

Part Two: Walking with Accountability

Later in the morning, I met up with my accountability partner, and we walked together. The conversation was honest, deep, and full of meaning. We talked about faith, fear, calling, and doubt. We sharpened each other. We talked about Peter—how many people disappear when adversity hits—and how rare it is to have someone who stays.

We shared the real stuff: the battles in our minds, the pull of anxiety, the tension between trust and control. We reminded each other to stay where our feet are. Not to live in tomorrow. Not to be swept up by what-ifs. But to walk step by step with peace.

As we made our way back, the sun began to rise. The sky turned blue. The lights changed. And with them, something inside us shifted too. It was a reminder that God meets us in both the silence of solitude and the strength of accountability.

We prayed, we reflected, and we gave thanks.