Over the years I’ve written several essays about hands but there has never been one mention of feet … so here goes.

Children often follow in the literal footsteps of their parents. Images of my young son taking giant steps to walk in the footprints in the snow left by his daddy fill my mind. Children and others often follow in the footsteps of both good and bad habits of those of influence in their lives.

My feet are disgusting — well feet in general are pretty disgusting — but they have taken me oh so many places. They have worked hard and served me well.

Before my fifth birthday in the holler I walked to school a mile each way — pure fact — not an exaggeration. Beginning in junior high I worked in our family diner standing on concrete in flat shoes for many hours each day as I opened and closed before and after school.

These feet have helped me stand as I learned to cook, can and preserve, iron, cut hair, play sports and so much more. Is it any wonder they, much like the rest of me, are worn out?

My feet are flat; my toes are crooked from wearing shoes too small almost until I became an adult. My toes were always pinched resulting in crookedness. Chronic battles with calluses, dry skin and ingrown toenails have plagued me. They itch. They swell. They hurt. They remain in constant need of smoothing. Disgusting? Yes, I know.

But these ugly appendages have served me well. It’s no wonder they hurt and swell with neuropathy and more yet still somehow manage to bear my weight and keep me moving ever so slowly.

Whenever I think of feet, this quote by Dr. Seuss pops into my mind, “You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go …”

So where did I decide to go? My journey is to serve God and serve others. On this amazing, uphill sojourn the one constant to positivity despite many detours and pitfalls is the abiding sense of gratitude that accompanies me. No, it didn’t come directly from my feet; it is part of who I’ve become, and it’s firmly grounded in my being. It creates optimism and hope while looking forward rather than backward. It helps keep me grounded, living in the moment and yearning for my heavenly home.

These feet have directed my path and are still engaged in doing so. The destination will hopefully be heaven as I comprehend it but the journey is mine alone.

On this path, which seems uphill all the way, are various steps. Sometimes we have to sidestep to avoid a great barrier or pitfall. Other times we may find ourselves standing perfectly still for a bit, perhaps waiting for the danger to pass. On more than one occasion we step backwards. That simply makes it a bit more challenging to catch up which we must determine to do. The destination is worth the sacrifice.

Stay on that path. It is narrow and steep with peaks and valleys galore.

The journey is slower now, yet I continue to move forward inching my way to the finish line. This is now my goal but my journey is not yet complete.

I’m reminded of a little elderly lady, Violet Blodgett, who stood at every opportunity in our congregation years ago to share her testimony. She always, always ended with these words. “I pray that I may be able to endure to the end.”

The youth mockingly mouthed the words with her frequently accompanied with an eye roll. Once I overheard them chatting about it. Their petty, immature comments went something like, “Oh, how hard is it to endure to the end at her age?” “What kind of temptations could she have?” A wise leader of the group ventured into the conversation as she counseled them that even in old age the devil wants to steal souls. Imagine striving to do right all your life and have him snuff it all out and get you to turn your back on God.

Though the challenges are different during each season of our lives, the goal is the same. Let us endure to the end and joyously meet our Maker face to face.

It is my prayer that these feet, though I shuffle along at a hesitatingly slower pace, may keep me on that path until the very end with faith in every footstep.

— A coal miner’s daughter born in Appalachia and schooled in Michigan, she currently lives in rural Athens. Hill describes herself as a cook and cookbook author, jack of all trades and master of none, a Christian wife, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother. She shares her home with her husband, Bob, and their spoiled-beyond-belief dog, Molly.