I took a walk today.
I stepped out my door in the November sunshine and when I realized it was a most gorgeous Kansas day with azure skies and nice temps and no wind, I returned to the house and I dug out a sweater and socks and I laced my tennis shoes right up.
I put one foot in front of the other and I headed down our lane, took an easy right and kept walking, for one whole mile to the corner crossroads where four months ago, almost to this exact day, I’d tried to turn my bike around on an evening bike ride and failed. I’d ended up with lost balance, a tangle and twist of a bike wreck, and last, but by no means least, a painfully twisted ankle and very swollen foot.
It’s been four months of pain and few steps. Particularly for the first two months.
Walking to my corner crossroads was completely out of the question.
There were days walking to the mailbox was out of the question. There were days I walked to the mailbox and halfway there, wished I’d never started. There were days when every step I took was forced. Pain is not particularly fun. If you didn’t realize that. 🙂 There were days walking into physical therapy felt like more work than it was worth, though I knew it was helping.
I didn’t go up and down my basement stairs for a while. The few times I did found me sitting down to go down and kneeling on my knee as I came up.
All this recounting to say…………..
Today found me giving thanks not only to want to take a walk, but to have the ability to do it. I never appreciate something as much until I realize the value it has.
I look at our big ole blue Kansas sky as I walk and I give thanks for the beautiful, peaceful landscape and refuge it offers me.
Here’s the thing. Not a one of us gets to skip blithely through life, on strong ankles, dodging every speed bump and sailing smoothly away from every storm.
Not once are we ever guaranteed trouble-free. And troubles and trials come in all manners and forms.
Your thing probably isn’t a twisted ankle and swollen foot. Your wreck, most likely, isn’t a bike wreck.
Your pain may be hidden to the passerby. It may be hidden from most everyone in your life.
Your storm may be driving to visit your spouse every day, watching as their memory slowly slips away. This wasn’t your vision for the golden years.
Your twisted ankle may be that diagnosis that broadslammed you and in as many seconds sent dreams disappearing as if they’d never existed.
Your ache may be empty arms, a quiet rocker and a pile of baby blankets tucked away in the closet.
Your wreck may feel like the marriage spiraling and splintering all around you. This wasn’t how the story was supposed to be written.
Your lump in the back of your throat may be from the good-bye you said and the boxes you helped pack and the friend you wished Godspeed, as she started on a journey causing many miles to separate you.
But here’s what I thought as my dirt road moved along under my steps. It’s all going to turn out all right.
And I don’t blame you if you look at me and say, “Really? Guess what? You’re not me.”
You’re right. I’m not you. I haven’t walked {or limped} in your shoes. Even if my life experience is so, so similar to yours, I’m still not you. And you’re right. I can not exactly know your experience.
But I CAN tell you it’s all going to come out all right.
Whether here or there. One way or another.
Jesus has really, really got this.
Whether I break out of the storm onto peaceful waters, whether ankles heal and pain leaves me, OR whether I leap through the gates of heaven, happy, whole and singing hallelujahs, it is all going to come out all right.
Make that MORE than all right!
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