Introducing the Walking Diaries

Praying with one foot in front of the other

Kolton is begging to take a walk. Anyone else want to walk or maybe I should say stroll or mosey since I’ll have Kolton walking too!

My kids would love a good neighborhood mosey. 

Mine too, we’re in! 

A few text messages later, and we gather outside with friends for a walk. It’s that perfect start-of-fall day where the sun breaks through clouds and the blue sky goes on for miles. Barreling out the front door, Isaac and Charlotte grab their bikes and ride to the other side of the street. The kids say hello and everyone goes in varying directions. We have scooters and bikes and wheely shoes. Strollers unfold and click into place. Snacks and water bottles are secured. We have a favorite route among us and it’s usually when the big kids are in school so we only have strollers to push. But on this rare Saturday that we’re all home, we take to the town streets with everyone in tow. 

The kids on bikes take the lead. I watch Isaac and his friend Damien find a stick and make up stories, they follow behind in their own world. Charlotte leans over to me and asks, “Can I push Owen?” Owen’s mom nods her head and Charlotte skips to the stroller and walks in step with the other moms.  

There's not a lot of time for conversation. Our stories interrupted with yells to the kids: “Stay where we can see you. Get out of the road! Watch where you’re going!” But this is time for us together, time where we show up for one another with our families. 

Since we’ve walked this path before, we know where to stop and admire the flowers and gardens, we know where we’ll run into other neighbors and that dog that won’t stop barking. We know when the big hill will come up that makes for an increased heart rate and strengthening of calves, and zooming kids on bikes and scooters. 

When we walk this same route over and over, I picture all the other walks I’ve done here — with the friends who no longer live in our town or the ones I’ve lost touch with, yet our stories and experiences remain seeped into the pavements and come back to me with every step forward. I see myself and the growth, literally and figuratively. 

When we first moved to Cole Camp, I walked with our then new-to-us shelter dog. Now he still accompanies me, but he’s slower and grayer, too. I remember the walk my husband Stephen and I took after we confirmed our first pregnancy, everything was the same, yet everything was different. Possibility brimmed before us as we cradled this new life. Years later a friend and I walked with our strollers and growing bellies and then I switched to one stroller and a baby wrap for Isaac. Now, I trail behind the kids as they race ahead on bikes and scooters. 

There’s the walks to school and around the neighborhood, delighting in found mushrooms and acorns. There’s the prayerful walks holding the pain and joy for friends. There’s the late night walks bundled up while the kids sleep, the stars and moon as my companions.

This is what walking does — knits us together with others and with the places we inhabit. A walk gives us a memory of where we’ve been and the hope of where we’re going, and the trust that we do not walk alone. 

When we walk we have to slow down, our bodies come in tune with the heartbeat of the world: a chorus of birds, children playing, wind rushing through leaves, a neighbor’s hello. I believe a walk can teach us how to pay attention — to our bodies, our communities and our neighbors. And when we take a walk with others, we learn what it means to have to go at the pace of another, to help when pain comes up, or offer a prayer when struggles are shared. 

Sometimes on a walk we simply offer our presence, we show up to the stressed out, sleep deprived mama and offer to push the stroller. We hear for the first time marriage struggles and about the pervading sadness that can’t be shaken. We realize we’re not alone when we share feelings of inadequacy or wonder if this season will ever end. 

Walking helps us see our communities — really see them — in all their beauty and broken sidewalks and overgrown yards and playgrounds and community gardens. 

I’ve said it before and I’ll keep saying it, some days the most holiest prayer I can offer is putting one foot in front of the other.  

So this Walking Diaries series I’m beginning is just that — prayers from our lives. Since I love to walk and talk, I thought it would be fitting to invite others to share their own walks. The ground they’ve treaded, the forests they’ve hiked, the people they’ve met, and the ways their bodies and spirits have been stretched. 

Each month a friend of mine will share a story/reflection/poem/photo essay from a walk they took. Maybe it’s a solo hike or a walk with their family in tow. Perhaps a memorable walk from years ago or the path they take daily. Through their words and pictures, they’ll show and tell what the walk meant to them, and how they grew from it. And with each diary shared, I hope you’ll be encouraged to lace up your shoes and put one foot in front of the other. 

I’m so excited to share their words and stories, and invite you to see your daily walks as moments to encounter the holy. 

¡Buen Camino! (May you have a good way!)