Walking in My Shoes, and Theirs

A few days before Christmas, I walked farther than I have in a long time. By the time I got home, the evening had already taken hold. Exhausted, I fell asleep, my body aching, only to wake later to supper waiting. The house was quiet; Christina, my caregiver, was already “flat” in her apartment, worn out from her own day.

As I sat there, eating and reflecting, my thoughts wandered to another journey made long ago. Joseph and Mary, making their way to Bethlehem, walking all day, perhaps with Mary sitting atop a donkey or another animal’s back. Did they stop only when they couldn’t go another step? Did Joseph’s feet throb and ache as mine do now, burning with the fire of neuropathy? Did Mary shift and strain, trying to find some comfort as they moved forward, step by painstaking step?

The Bible doesn’t tell us these details. It doesn’t mention the blisters, the exhaustion, or the moments when Joseph might have looked up at the sky and whispered, “How much farther, Lord?” It doesn’t capture Mary’s quiet endurance, carrying the greatest gift the world has ever known while bearing the weight of weariness and uncertainty.

And yet, isn’t that the heart of Christmas? The journey. The struggle. The hope that keeps you moving forward when every step feels heavier than the last.

This time of year, we’re surrounded by images of peace and joy—bright lights, cheerful music, and the warmth of community. But for many of us, the journey is still hard. Our feet hurt, our spirits ache, and the weight of life’s challenges presses down.

But in that shared experience, there’s an invitation. Just as Joseph and Mary bore their burdens with faith and perseverance, we’re called to walk our own paths with the same hope. And even more, we’re called to look around us and recognize the weary travelers by our side—to offer a hand, a word, a moment of grace.

This Christmas, as I reflect on my own journey and the simple yet profound story of Joseph and Mary, I’m reminded that no one truly walks in another’s shoes. But we can try to understand. We can choose to offer kindness, to share the burden, and to walk together, even for just a little while.

Because Christmas isn’t about the end of the journey—it’s about the journey itself. The steps, the struggles, the hope, and the love that make it all worthwhile.

So if your feet are burning like mine, if your spirit feels heavy, or if the road ahead looks impossibly long, remember: you’re not alone. The same light that guided Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem still shines for us today, reminding us that even in our weariness, there is hope. There is peace. There is love.

Let’s walk together this Christmas.

Sore Feet, Aching Heart
Verse 1
Sore feet on a dusty road,
Aching heart bearing a heavy load,
Joseph walks, Mary sways,
Step by step through the long, hard days.
No room, no bed, no firelight,
But they carry on through the cold of night.
Faith’s their guide, hope’s their spark,
Sore feet, aching heart.

Chorus
Oh, the journey’s rough, the path is steep,
But promises made are promises to keep.
Through the pain and through the strife,
Comes the gift of eternal life.

Verse 2
Burning soles on the gravel track,
Each step forward, there’s no turning back.
Mary whispers, “Not much more,”
Joseph nods though his legs are sore.
A stable waits, humble and small,
But heaven will shine in the midst of it all.
Love breaks through where journeys start,
Sore feet, aching heart.

Chorus
Oh, the journey’s rough, the path is steep,
But promises made are promises to keep.
Through the pain and through the strife,
Comes the gift of eternal life.

Verse 3
Now we walk our own hard miles,
Through burning tears and fleeting smiles.
The road is long, the nights are cold,
But the greatest story ever told
Reminds us all, we’re not alone,
There’s peace ahead, there’s a heavenly home.
Grace will heal what’s torn apart,
Sore feet, aching heart.

Outro Chorus
Oh, the journey’s rough, the path is steep,
But promises made are promises to keep.
Through the pain and through the strife,
Comes the gift of eternal life.