Holes in My Shoes, Light in My Chest
The pavement doesn’t care how tired you are. Neither does the cold. But somewhere between the blisters and the bruises, I found something unexpected: light.
People think divinity arrives in a flash of gold or a perfect sunrise. But I saw God peeking through the cracks of my busted sneakers — reminding me: “You're still here. And that’s holy.”
The Sacred Wounds of the Road
Every scuff on my sole carved a lesson into my soul. Every mile barefooted brought me closer to the parts of myself I’d buried in comfort.
There’s no sermon like the one preached by pain.
Grace Doesn’t Need Clean Feet
Maybe grace prefers us dirty. Worn. Spent. Because only then do we drop the mask and show up real.
And Christ Consciousness? It doesn’t judge your stink or your state — it just walks beside you.
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💬 Got holes in your shoes too? Drop a comment below. Let’s compare soles and souls.
— Catfish Heads
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