My Footprints

It's not footprints that we should be talking about - They’re personal – my footprints, bold and giving, Which shape me, make me me - who I am: They're not Jesus’s, the king of living. Your personal history partly determines your life, Helps you, or makes you want to overcome, Makes you want to become who you want to be, Because I'm more than just my history’s sum. The Jesus that we know is a universality: Communal, all-knowing and immortal; But that I evolved and am part of humankind, Gives me purpose and a rather large portal. Individual responsibility makes the criminal weep: His actions are only his, there's no leeway; It gives the success story her satisfied smile, At past determination in her disbelieving day. Existentialism posits we each exist without divinity, As self-sufficient entities with meaning as your call; Supernature strokes the ego, fondles the pride, So just believe in atheism and be relational to all. In Mary Stevenson’s Footprints poem, Jesus carries you, with his footprints in yours; But I think my role-models, physios and teachers, Along with myself, carried me in theirs!