It was a late afternoon on a breathless day. We made our way down the rough-hewn steps over rocks and fallen trees to the secret beach hidden below. My husband and I were in a wilderness area whilst visiting our daughter in Australia. We love walking in wild, unusual places. This beach was once part of Aboriginal territory. Poignant signs at the perimeter attested to its history and the family that had once lived there. 

As we descended the winding track, we felt as if we were stepping back in time.

There was not a single footprint in the sand, not a sign of human interaction. It was nature, pure and untouched, wild and free. 

Above, we saw a giant eagle hovering, a large python hanging from its beak as it swayed to and fro in silenced surrender. It was an unforgettable moment. 

I thought how insignificant we were, intruders in this unspoilt wilderness, just two specks on a beach in the vast expanse of a sprawling continent. 

Was it not arrogant to think that we mattered in this vast sea of continents? 

And yet, looking down at the pristine expanse of shifting sands, I pondered about what footprints I was leaving on this planet? Were they just passing through, waiting to be erased by the tides of the swelling and retreating ocean? Were they just incidental or did my legacy matter? Would my words live on beyond the tides of time? I wasn’t sure. 

But what I knew was that it was worth walking into the wilderness so that I could see with newfound reverence. So that I could hear with humility, and so that I could understand at a deeper level what grace truly means.

The footsteps I could not see.

For all the times I was carried.