Mile in My Shoes

The graphic titled “A Mile in My Shoes” captures a vitally important truth about the human condition: while each of our lives is uniquely shaped by particular experiences and circumstances (represented above the dotted line), our core struggles are not unique—they are “common to man” (1 Corinthians 10:13). The top half of the image reminds us that no two people walk the same earthly path. There are millions of variations in upbringing, culture, trauma, success, and sorrow. But despite these distinctions, the bottom half of the graphic reminds us that at the heart level, we are all cut from the same Adamic cloth. That is to say, our deepest needs, idols, and temptations share common roots.

This insight is critical in biblical counseling.

The common argument, “You can’t help me unless you’ve walked a mile in my shoes” is not only logically inconsistent, it is also spiritually misleading. If we were to carry that logic to its full conclusion, we would disqualify Christ from speaking into the lives of most people. He never married, never went through a divorce, never had rebellious children, never suffered addiction, or went through years of sexual confusion or abuse. And yet, Hebrews 4:15 assures us that we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses. Christ is fully aware of human frailty. He endured rejection, loneliness, betrayal, loss, temptation, and the full weight of sin placed upon Him at the cross. He understands suffering more profoundly than any of us.

The comfort in biblical counseling does not stem from someone having the same experience as us, but from someone who can wisely lead us to the sufficiency of Scripture and the hope of the gospel. God’s Word is not limited by your story. It is living and active and able to discern the thoughts and intentions of the heart (Hebrews 4:12). And that’s where the heart of the graphic points us—below the line, to the common conditions of the heart: the desire for control, the idolatry of comfort, the bondage of fear, the weight of shame and guilt, and the core struggle of unbelief. These are not “surface struggles;” they are foundational to human rebellion and suffering.

Note how the left column lists unique expressions of sin and weakness: self-righteousness, self-centeredness, sexual issues, anger, etc. But even those are rooted in shared heart motives. You don’t have to be struggling in exactly the same way as another to understand the inner chaos of life lived for self instead of God. That’s what the “self-reliant construct” unpacks: a chain reaction that begins with trusting in self (instead of God), which then seeks to control outcomes, idolize comfort, and ends in fear, guilt, and shame. This process is universal. While it may manifest differently, its root is shared. So, no—you don’t have to be omniscient or omnipresent to counsel someone. You need to be equipped in understanding the human heart as Scripture reveals it.

Case Study: Marge and Mable

Marge was a woman who had lived a life that, by her account, was littered with pain and poor decisions. She grew up in a broken home: alcoholic father, an emotionally absent mother, and constant instability. As a teenager, she looked for love in all the wrong places, endured a string of damaging relationships, and married a man who later abandoned her. Now, remarried to a man she describes as immature and spiritually passive, she is overwhelmed with regret and bitterness.

When Mable, a faithful church member who grew up in a loving Christian home, was assigned to disciple her, Marge recoiled. “You have no idea what I’ve been through,” she snapped. “You’ve always had a good life. You can’t counsel me.”

But Mable didn’t flinch. She gently acknowledged the uniqueness of Marge’s story—“above the line”—but then redirected their focus.

Marge, I haven’t walked in your shoes, but I’ve wrestled with control. I know what it’s like to be disappointed when life doesn’t go the way I planned. I’ve struggled to trust God. I’ve known fear, guilt, and shame—and I’ve believed lies about myself and God. And I’ve run to things other than Christ for comfort. I may not have your story, but I understand the condition of the heart. The Bible speaks to both of us.

Marge listened. Slowly, she began to see that her story was not a barrier to counsel but a bridge to grace. Mable wasn’t offering her experience-based validation, but gospel-centered wisdom. She didn’t need someone who had made the same mistakes; she needed someone who knew how to walk her back to Christ.

This is why we counsel below the line. Not because we are dismissing life experiences, but because we know that what binds us together—our fallen humanity and our shared need for Christ—is stronger than what differentiates us.

True help doesn’t come from shared history. It comes from a shared Savior.

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Peace,
Rick