{about walking}

On my walk last night: freshly planted field on one side, freshly mown hayfield on the other and in the distance, golden edged clouds suspended in a pink sky as the orb of a sun slid below the horizon. It would have been idyllic if it wasn’t so cold with what felt like 40 mph wind trying to blow me over.

Ahhh. I love a beautiful sunset. Yes, yes. I know. Technically, it’s not a sunset. It’s an earthrise. But earthrise just doesn’t sound as good.

Imagine Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof singing, “Earthrise, earthset, earthrise, earthset, swiftly flow the days.” See. It just doesn’t sound the same.

I love to think back to all the places I’ve walked.

Walks with Dad after school in Sidney, Ohio. (If you need to know, it’s because I was often in trouble after a homeschool day with Mom. Mom and Dad have always claimed Dr. Dobson’s book “The Strong-willed Child” was written about me.)

Early morning prayer walks with Dad on dusty Sandy Lake roads in Ontario.

Walks with friends all over Red Lake, Ontario. Walks to Jim’s Bakery. Walks to the dock to just sit and enjoy the water.

Walks in Oak Brook, Illinois. Again, many times with friends.

A walk in Taipei, Taiwan with my cousin Eli when he was only three. To the supermarket for groceries. Other walks in Taiwan with Uncle Nate and Auntie Chris to see the sights.

Walks to schools and orphanages, to and from the Metro, in and around the city of Moscow, Russia. A walk through Red Square. And also, the “stairs of death”: too many steps to count going down into a Metro station somewhere in the city.

Walking with my husband as newlyweds to the Hobe Sound beach in Hobe Sound, Florida during our first year of marriage. Hot, humid evenings. With sand fleas.

A walk in downtown Seoul, Korea when we overnighted there en route to the Philippines the first time. Enjoying the sights and sounds and smells of a huge Asian city.

In the Philippines after a helicopter ride into a village high in the mountains, I walked out. For 10 hours. Downhill. My knees shudder when they remember.

Then there were the walks at the Northwoods. U.P., Michigan. Walks to the Gatehouse and back. Walks around Wolf Lake. Walks with friends.

Walks in Mt. Carmel, Pennsylvania with one, two, three little girls on our way to the park for slides and swings.

Walks in Smalltown, Michigan down trails specially mown in the grass through the back field and through the woods.

A walk in the Philippines with my husband early one morning. Birds singing. Horns honking. Trikes passing. People hard at work and the sun is barely up. Roosters crowing. Children waving.

Walks in Smalltown, Pennsylvania. Down the hill. Over the railroad tracks to the Juniata River.

And now, walks on the farm. Walks down my driveway in between fields. Two mile walks and I’ve only walked to the mailbox and back twice.

I’ve walked and prayed. I’ve walked and cried. I’ve had to stop sometimes because I was crying so hard I couldn’t see. I’ve walked and been so full of joy and hope I felt like bursting. I’ve walked and dreamed. I’ve walked and wondered what’s next. I’ve walked and not ever wanted to leave.

And I find that in all the various seasons of life Jesus has been walking with me. He’s always there. Constant. Steady. Loving. Understanding the things I can’t put into words. My unseen walking partner.

What have been your most memorable walks? With whom and where?