“Give a girl the right shoes, and she can conquer the world,” averred actress and model Marilyn Monroe.  When I consider my own favorite pair of footwear, I couldn’t agree more.  Admittedly, they’re not the chic flats or stylish pumps or stiletto heels to which Marilyn was probably referring, but even so, when I’m wearing them, I truly believe that I can indeed conquer the world.  

They’re a pair of work boots, solid and sturdy.  I don’t even remember when I purchased them, or where—maybe a big-box retailer, maybe an outdoor supply store.  But in their own unobtrusive way, they’ve been my constant companions for the last several years.  These boots have stomped through powdery mounds of ash as I tended bonfires in the sandy pit in my woods.  These boots have scattered autumn leaves like exuberant confetti while I raced along flaming hillsides in the fall.  These boots have pumped the pedals of an ATV, sending me roaring through the trees with the wheel in my hands and the wind in my hair.  And these boots have carried me on long rambling hikes, mile after mile of being at once happily lost and lovingly found, broken down and built back up.

These boots are humble, to be sure.  They can’t be described as attractive; functionality certainly trumped aesthetics in their construction.  Their color is a dusty hybrid of brown and yellow and gray, with thick rubber treads that clomp echoingly on hard surfaces.  A dark brown collar frames the top of each boot, and the fraying laces, rethreaded many times, crisscross their course up my ankle, zigzagging between tarnished metal grommets.  And now, after years of use, these boots bear the scars of every adventure—blotchy stains here and there, a splitting seam along the side, creases above the arch, a skinned place on the toe.   

But I continue to race out my door, wilderness-bound, and I shove my feet into these hard and heavy boots and away I go.  I don’t wear these boots to make a fashion statement or keep up with the latest style trend or impress onlookers.  These boots are not flashy, but they are something better—they are faithful.

You see, my boots boast hidden strengths of which other shoes can only dream.  First of all, they’re waterproof, a true boon when I’m splashing in the shallows of our creek or slogging through the squishy mud that slurps at every step during the rainy season.  They’re also oil-resistant, so I don’t have to fear accidental spills when I’m working with our equipment.  The snug top collar supports my ankles, ensuring they won’t twist on uneven ground.  Perhaps most impressive of all is the steel toe.  Even when I’ve accidentally dropped the heaviest logs or tools on my feet, the reinforced toe formed a dome of protection around me.  In these boots, I can tackle any challenge, rise to every occasion, and safely travel across the very roughest landscapes.

And that’s why my boots are my constant companions.  Over the wilderness miles, on the long hikes and the short rambles, they have been there.  Not stunning in appearance, not trendy in design, just plain and pure strength and protection.  

Not everyone wears boots in the great outdoors.  Over my years of wilderness wanderings, I’ve seen people attired in every form of footwear.  I can’t count the number of times I’ve encountered fellow hikers in flip-flops, dress shoes (yes, even high heels), or sneakers.  Some even shun shoes entirely and go barefoot.   

And I’m struck by the realization that in the moment, all of these choices are more appealing than mine.  Flip-flops are not nearly as restrictive as my boots.  Dress shoes are far more attractive.  Sneakers are not so awkward and clunky.  Going barefoot feels like the ultimate statement of independence.  But in the end, no matter how tempting the other options, they fall far short of their owners’ hopes.  

Dress shoes beget blisters.  Flip-flops crack when they meet rocks.  The flimsy soles and inadequate ankle support of sneakers leave their owners susceptible to injury.  Barefoot hikers have no protection at all and can be cursed with cuts, splinters, bruises, burns, even bacterial or parasitic infections.  I’ve seen so many hikers in these situations, frustrated and in pain.  Some attempt to hobble onward, their pace and enjoyment equally reduced.  Others are forced to abandon their plans and curtail their hikes.  All experience the truth—walking in shoes that aren’t fitted for the outdoors leaves lasting misery.  

These shoes might be sufficient for ambling through a downtown area or roaming along a serene sidewalk, but in the woods, they fail.  And that’s why you’ll forever see me wandering the hills in my boots.  Yes, their hard shell can be restrictive.  No, they’re not particularly attractive in the eyes of the world.  Yes, at times, their weight feels like a hindrance.  But to my eyes, they have a simple, rugged attractiveness born of their promise of adventure.  And more importantly, they are the one footwear that has never let me down, no matter how long the journey or how grueling the ground.

Friend, you don’t have to go to the woods to find rough terrain.  Life itself is difficult to traverse.  It’s no stroll in the mall or saunter down a boulevard.  It’s a strenuous, exhausting climb that takes all we have to give, over a course more demanding than we could imagine, with uneven footing that can make the bravest heart quake.  And on this journey, the “footwear” we choose for our souls determines the safety, the quality, and even the feasibility of our journey.  

The world offers us many attractive options.  You’ll find something for every taste—modish materialism, laced-up legalism, trendy fads, even the bare feet of those who renounce faith altogether.  And when you stack the gospel next to all these alternatives, it sometimes doesn’t appear to be the most alluring choice.  The world denounces it as restrictive—confining and clunky.  It’s heavy—there’s a weight of responsibility to wearing it.  And when compared to the sparkle and spritz of the latest chic trend, this faith that has flowed for thousands of years is often mocked as old-fashioned or out-of-date. 

And yet it is my forever choice.  

You see, unlike the world, I find richest beauty when I look at the gospel—maybe not the flashy frenzy of capricious fads, but the quiet strength and simple dignity of inherent nobility.  And even more important is its authenticity.  It is the only “footwear” I’ve found that protects me through every mile, no matter the challenges I face.  

I’m reminded of Paul.  If ever there was someone who unflinchingly wore the gospel wherever he went, Paul was that man.  And when we peek between the pages of 2 Timothy—his last letter—we glimpse his heart for the truth.  In an unwavering final stand, he urges, “Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, descended from David. This is my gospel” (2 Timothy 2:8 NIV, emphasis mine).  

This is it—the simple pulse of Scripture—Jesus Christ.  And this statement sparks awe in my soul.  You see, when he penned these words, Paul was near the end of his life—a life that had been marked with hardships and suffering, characterized by a level of commitment to the Lord and conflict with the enemy that we cannot even begin to imagine.  Even as he wrote, he was in Roman captivity, awaiting trial before Nero, the infamously bloodthirsty emperor who despised Christians and held Paul’s life in the balance.

And at this point, we might expect Paul to be seeking more comfortable “footwear.”  With a life as rigorous as his had been, we might wonder if the gospel was really enough to carry him mile after mile.  Yet what we hear is a resolute recommitment—proof that Paul’s dedication to the truth had only grown with every step.  Yes, Paul’s journey had been rough and difficult.  And that’s precisely why he knew that only the gospel—not the flinging fads of culture—could be trusted to carry him home.  The man who was “resolved to know nothing…except Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Corinthians 2:2 NIV) wore the boots of the gospel until the very day he died.  

Like Paul, we are in the midst of a culture and a people that have nothing but scorn to heap upon the things of God.  The Bible is ridiculed.  God’s work is dismissed.  The truth is obscured.  Virtues are neglected.  And Christians can be swayed.  We too can begin to look at the gospel through the world’s eyes—as restrictive, or too heavy to bear, or just plain old-fashioned and out of style.  

We can start to become like the church at Galatia.  The believers in this location had once been strong and steadfast, determined to shine for Christ.  But then complications arose (as they always do).  False teachers infiltrated the church.  Human opinions began to sound more logical than God’s Word.  Suddenly, the new Christians found themselves on shaky ground—just as we can today.  

Again, it’s in the writings of Paul that we find the solution to this temptation.  After rebuking them for “so quickly deserting him who called you in the grace of Christ and…turning to a different gospel,” Paul reminds these readers of a striking fact:  “For I would have you know, brothers, that the gospel that was preached by me is not man’s gospel.  For I did not receive it from any man, nor was I taught it, but I received it through a revelation of Jesus Christ” (Galatians 1:6b, 11-12 ESV).  

This passage reminds us of two vital truths.  First of all, when we’re tempted to try on the world’s footwear, we’re not just shifting our doctrinal stance or adjusting our perspective.  According to Paul, we’re deserting God Himself.  It’s a strong statement, but one that should awaken us to the very real danger of forsaking the true gospel.  And secondly, this is the reason we hold so faithfully to the gospel:  it is God’s Word.  The gospel is not a human invention or a fictional fairytale or a personal persuasion subject to interpretation.  It is the unchanging, unwavering, undeniable bedrock truth of God.  Without it, we’re lost.  

And that’s where we find ourselves.  Today, let’s search for the areas in our lives where we might be tempted to don the “footwear” of the world.  Where have we allowed skepticism, or worldly standards, or compromise to infect our faith?  And then let’s recommit ourselves to God, knowing that our allegiance to Him is at stake and determined to wear the gospel He has provided as long as we live.  

You’ll never see me roaming hills and highlands without my loyal work boots.  I know I need my boots, need them desperately, if I can ever hope to navigate the terrain of the woods.  Without them, I’m unprotected and unprepared, but with them, I can face any challenge.  And in this rough world, through all its pitfalls and perils, it’s my prayer that I’ll always have my “feet shod with the preparation of the gospel of peace” (Ephesians 6:15 KJV).  Over every mile of my journey, the gospel of Jesus Christ is the only footwear I’ll ever need.    

Did you enjoy this post? How has the “footwear” of the gospel been faithful in your life? Let me know in the comments!