The air is cool this morning as I sit on the patio and walking about the yard barefoot. This simple act—walking without shoes, grounding myself in creation—has become a ritual, a quiet rebellion against the noise of the world. My journey, which I call The Barefoot Path, is one of seeking peace and contentment, inspired by St. Francis of Assisi, whose life of simplicity, love, and devotion to God speaks to my soul. Like him, I’m learning to strip away the excess, to find joy in the small, and to walk humbly with my Creator.

I was born into a Southern Baptist family, raised on pews polished by generations of faithful. The hymns still linger in my heart, but the sermons—steeped in hellfire and damnation—left me restless. I couldn’t reconcile the fear they preached with the Jesus I met in the Gospels. In the Sermon on the Mount, He spoke of love, forgiveness, and the blessedness of the meek. Yes, He warned of consequences for sin, but His message was not one of terror. It was an invitation to live fully in God’s grace. So, I left the church of my childhood, seeking a faith that felt like home.

For a time, I found refuge in the Episcopal Church. Its liturgy was beautiful, its traditions rich. But over time, I noticed a shift. Political ideologies began to weave into sermons, ideas that seemed to clash with the Bible’s teachings. I didn’t want to trade one form of dogma for another. My heart longed for a faith untainted by the world’s divisions, a faith that mirrored the simplicity of Jesus’ call to love God and neighbor. Disheartened, I stepped away, unsure of where my path would lead.

Now, I stand at a crossroads, contemplating Catholicism. St. Francis, a Catholic saint, has become my guide. His life was a testament to radical simplicity—renouncing wealth, embracing poverty, and finding joy in God’s creation. He didn’t just preach love; he lived it, tending to lepers, rebuilding churches stone by stone, and praising God through every bird and blade of grass. His example challenges me to ask: What does it mean to live simply in a world that demands more, more, more? How do I find contentment when society measures worth by possessions and status?

For me, simplifying means letting go—not just of things, but of the burdens I carry. I’ve started decluttering my home, giving away clothes I don’t need and paring down to essentials. But it’s more than physical stuff. I’m learning to release grudges, to forgive as Jesus taught, and to quiet the inner voice that says I’m not enough. St. Francis once said, “It is in giving that we receive.” I’m finding truth in that. When I share my time, my listening ear, or even a smile with a stranger, I feel fuller, not emptier.

Contentment, I’m discovering, isn’t about having everything figured out. It’s about trusting God in the messiness of the journey. I don’t have all the answers about Catholicism yet. I’m reading, praying, and talking with a priest who listens more than he lectures. The Catholic Church’s history is complex, and I’m not naive about its flaws. But I’m drawn to its sacraments, its ancient roots, and its call to live for something greater than myself. The Eucharist, in particular, feels like an anchor—a tangible reminder of Jesus’ presence. I’m not rushing to decide. Like St. Francis, I’m taking it one step at a time, trusting God to guide me.

My barefoot walks are teaching me patience. The ground isn’t always soft; sometimes it’s rocky, sometimes it stings. But each step connects me to the world God made, from the ants marching in neat rows to the breeze that carries the scent of pine. St. Francis saw all of creation as his family—Brother Sun, Sister Moon, Mother Earth. I’m trying to see the world that way, too. It’s humbling to realize I’m just one small part of this vast, beautiful tapestry.

As I simplify my life, I’m also simplifying my faith. I don’t need a perfect church or a flawless theology. I need Jesus’ love, the courage to forgive, and the grace to keep walking. The Barefoot Path isn’t about arriving; it’s about moving forward with open hands and an open heart. St. Francis once prayed, “Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.” That’s my prayer, too. May I walk lightly, love deeply, and find contentment in the journey, one barefoot step at a time.