the first steps we take in this world are full of wondrous mystery. they are raw possibility.

the first steps i ever took were across five feet of maroon carpeted living-room floor into the waiting arms of my beeming big-brother and my loving, beautiful, tearful mother. 

last week, i shared my life story with some dear friends. as i prepared, i did a good deal of reflection on all the places my feet have carried me throughout my 22 years. they have carried me to and from school, through halls and classrooms where i have learned, questioned, and discovered. they’ve carried me up mountains and into forests where i have touched heaven and breathed prayers. they have carried me into other countries, deep into other cultures where i have tasted the world. they have carried me in and out of people’s lives and relationships that i will carry with me into new lives and new relationships. sometimes, they have carried me straight into trouble. they have carried me from denver to seattle—into a new life, ripe with promise and growth. in june, they will carry me into a new adventure; a future that is as mysterious and unknown to me as the past 21 years were to the little girl you see in the picture.

i wonder. that moment—when i stood shakily on that maroon carpet, put one foot in front of the other, and wobbled toward my mother determinedly—i wonder if she knew, surely she must have known, that those feet would faithfully carry me through my existence. surely, she knew: my to-be losses and devastations were the substance of her tears. my not-yet joys and revelations reflected in her smile.

i can only hope i am half the woman she is as my feet carry me through the rest of this miracle called life.