Early in my walk, at a conference in Enfield, I had an experience that sits at the forefront of my consciousness, still today. I'd stepped out of the main room and into the hallway, keeping company to my sister who'd felt unwell, and sitting beside her in the hallway suddenly I heard them. Footsteps. Deafening in their steady stature. As a musician, their steady beat danced across my mind's staff, clean, quarter notes, one and then another, one and then another, one and then another. Dot, dot, dot. I couldn't tell whether they were coming or going, they echoed on the marble floor tiles, bouncing from one wall to the other, from this end to that. They never doubted their path and I could not decipher how these perfectly steadfast steps came to be, nor could I imagine where they were so decidedly going.

The bass of her heel testified to her humility. They must have been low to the ground, square maybe, without pattern, neutral, utilitarian, modest. Not one pair of many. A woman without excess, she valued comfort to a show, making even the mundane beautiful in her simplicity, her steady steps continued, unphased by my silent bewilderment.

As I heard the footsteps nearing, I wondered how long the hallway was or if perhaps I'd only heard them in some far-off recess of my mind. Extraordinary despite their ordinary action, surely, she had no idea the impact she held, and in her walk, it was clear she was there for Christ alone, not for spectator nor show, neither attention nor gravitas. She was there to contribute, to give of herself, to share what the Lord had put inside her, and that alone kept her steady.

They walked for what seemed an eternity, never changing pace nor conviction, nor speed nor direction. I found peace in the consistency of their constancy; conviction in the faithfulness to their direction, wherever that was. These unchanging footsteps walked without force, neither hurried nor tarried, bold only in their unhesitant assumption that if they just kept walking, their next step would be provided, and it was.

This was the walk of a woman who had walked by her Lord carefully so as to walk in tandem (by His great allowance), full of the leading of His Spirit within her. These were the steadfast footsteps of a woman who had or would raise up children to follow God, who would lead armies without fear, who would provide coverings for those in need. As these footsteps continued, I couldn't imagine her face, for it sounded like the footsteps of one who understood her authority yet led with humility, a complete paradox of a woman in this modern world and yet she continued determined.

And there was nothing loud about them, nor did they walk by their own strength but by the power of God Himself, in this ordinary hallway, in this quiet New England town, and yet you could hear the surety of each step, as if they knew, those footsteps, that wherever they were heading, the Lord had already gone before them, and gone after them, and would be with them the entire time. No, you couldn't attain this walk in one day, this was the walk of a woman who had experienced tragedy time and again, whose steps had once been hurried and nervous but were then slowed by the grace of God and tempered by the conviction of her Lord. You could tell that these same feet had been splayed out over the ground in submission before her Lord; these were the steps of an unshakeable woman granted so by the favor of her Father. These were the steps of a leader, a follower, a lover, a warrior, these were the steps of a woman who could be trusted and relied upon. If I were to play these steps on an instrument, they would be this perfect boom, boom, boom, boom, maddening to the reprobate but encouraging to the believer.

I didn't know if I'd ever hear those footsteps again, but my, did I aspire to walk so steadfastly in the Spirit, in this world. Those were the steps of a woman who, in great calamity, would drop to her knees in full conviction and worship boldly, those were the steps of a woman who had done so many times before. These steps didn't feel the need to hurry or rush so they never became lethargic or slowed because it was He who carried her as she went, and together they walked so steadfastly forward, never looking back, never changing direction. These were the steps of a woman who had learned from her mistakes, she was not perfect, nor would she be until those steps found themselves on streets of gold, but these were the steps of a woman who was pleased to follow her Lord wherever He went, unquestioningly and unafraid.

And I began to consider myself, me who was often hurried in my walk, worried and fearful of what came next, walking unsteadily in the dark as my season called for at that time, still green and unsure. Yes, my steps had been the complete opposite of this womans, to the point I imagined that people must have heard me walking by and felt the fear within me and I was greatly convicted of this at the time, those footsteps convicted me of the fear I stood in, as I comforted my sister in that hallway with peace I hadn't yet attained. Can you imagine, to be convicted by even the steps of a woman, how full of His Spirit she must have been, and I imagined, what kind of impressions we must collectively make upon others with our mouths, our thoughts and ideas, with the passions we pursue, with the words we repeat, if just by this woman's footsteps, I'd been so affected. Those footsteps that refused to leave my mind, I don't think I ever want them to.

When I feel hurried, I remember her footsteps and I slow down, I slow down, and I rest in Him as I imagine she was that evening in Enfield. The footsteps of a true woman of God, steadfast and never hurried, sure and confident in her Lord, ready for anything, always in submission, even on her feet.

Even in her obvious authority there was no condemnation, nor was there any fear nor threat or force, just a gentle invitation to follow her as if she knew the way to The Way. I never did see the face of those footsteps, I was too struck by the sound of them to move, I had never heard such tranquility even on the move and I was amazed by their silent declaration, "I walk this way because the Lord walks this way, walk with us", evangelizing the tiles and the walls and everyone in her path. Everything about the sound of her footsteps was pleasing and everything about the feeling of her Spirit coming down the hall was inviting, now I know this is because it was His, and yet she never tried. The Lord was with her, and it was loud, yet she was completely silent, the Lord was with her as she walked and gave her confidence, and it was nothing she could do, and she was perfectly content in that. And although maturation in Christ is not achieved by the years of our lives, it is gained by time spent with our Lord and these steps seemed to have spent centuries in Him, they were rejuvenated and alive and fresh, she could've been 16 or 60, a woman who desired not to put on anything more than the Lord, so much so that her very footsteps emanated His grace.

These were the steps of a woman whose beauty outshined diamonds and whose spirit would outlive the mines from which they came. She was a leader as she served, she was a follower as she led. God bless that woman, I bless that woman, in the name of Jesus, wherever she is. I will never forget the sound of your steps in Enfield that evening. I found, still am finding, great peace in those steps and their echo throughout the hallways, steady and immoveable, not by your power, but by His.