I Walk Barefoot

The wind does not rush me—

it hushes me.

Brushes against my cheek

like the breath of something ancient,

as if Jehovah whispers,

"Be still, I am here."

It doesn't need a trumpet.

Only stillness.

Only that gentle exhale

that wraps around the ribs

and tells the soul:

You are safe now.

I walk barefoot—

because shoes cannot teach me

what the dirt remembers.

Each step presses stories into my skin,

ashes and dew,

gravel and root.

The tiny stones beneath me

shift like thoughts shaking loose.

Even the pebbles dream—

dream of rivers,

of low steady water,

of surrender,

of being taken in and turned smooth

by time and purpose.

The wind gathers behind me,

not to push,

but to lift—

a breath not mine

but made for me.

Made by Jehovah, who shaped hills

with the same care

He shaped my quiet.

I kneel where the wild things grow.

Herbs that don’t ask to be seen,

flowers that bloom with no audience,

leaves that give what they carry—

bitter or sweet.

I gather them in silence,

tucking stories into the folds

of poultices and teas.

This is healing that speaks softly,

but stays long.

I do not need loudness to prove I am alive.

I have survived the fire,

and I carry the ember.

I do not need permission

to love like open land—

gentle, wide,

and never conquered.

But I also carry the storm.

I also have claws.

So don’t corner me.

Don’t name me what I’ve outgrown.

Don’t lay hands where only prayer belongs.

I am of dust,

and I am not ashamed.

Jehovah shaped me from earth

and called it good.

So when I rise from the soil

with mud on my ankles,

and gravel in my palms,

know that I rose by design—

not by accident.

The peace I carry

has no gates.

It flows.

It finds.

It waits for no one.

It lives in the breath between thoughts,

in the hush between sighs,

in the light touch of a leaf

on the back of your hand.

And somewhere in that space—

that soft, clean space—

I remember:

I am joy without shame.

I am love without compromise.

I am both prayer and resistance.

I am all that came before me,

and all that was never meant to hold me down.

I walk barefoot,

and the earth does not flinch.

It welcomes me,

just as He does—

Jehovah,

who made all things quiet

and all things wild

and all things worthy

of being called

beloved.