Feet of our Fathers

North Bridge, Concord Massachusetts

Two hundred thirty plus years ago intrepid feet held this ground; crossed this bridge.

Feet that burned for freedom. 

Their footwear didn’t match. Their uniforms didn’t either. 

But they were driven by an adamant stronger than death. 

They were ordinary men, but they were men of passion. 

Men of conviction.

And so across this bridge was fired “the shot heard round the world.” And the blood spilled on the road was the first signature of a new republic... 

Two hundred thirty-six years later, our feet are here. 

Same bridge.

Monuments stand where the blood once stained the road. 

I peer into the muddy creek and wonder how much mud covers the musket shot. 

And I wonder if our hearts are made out of the same stuff.

I wonder if our feet burn with the same eagerness; willingness; discipline.

I wonder if the offering of our lives poured out is the signature of the place God’s children call Home...