I walk in the evenings.
I walk in circles,
eighty-five paces to be exact,
eighty-five paces around my driveway,
round and round I go.
I count in decades,
and reverse every ten,
until I get to thirty-six,
which equals one mile
and a half.
I walk fast most of the time,
fast enough so as not
to be able to sing.
But every ten rounds,
I slow it down for two.
I am old, you see.
And I got scary sick a couple of years ago.
I realized that to be well,
to be remotely close to well,
I needed to M-O-V-E.
So walking each day became
my place of commitment
to health.
And I began, very early on,
to connect one kind of health
with another.
My circle-walking became my
primary time of prayer
each day.
I walk out the door,
and I say,
"So Lord, whose face will you
bring to mind today?
How can I join with you in
the work of the kingdom tonight?"
And I say, "Thank you."
Over and over again.
Thanks for the beauty of this place,
this home,
this town,
this part of the world.
These people I love,
this work I do,
this health I enjoy.
The green of the trees,
the pink light glinting on the
foothills,
the setting sun and the shadows
it creates.
And I breathe in the beauty.
I even force myself, from time to time,
to give thanks for these flowers.
These flowers that I do not like.
We have sixteen large bushes of these,
all down the fence at the side
and across the front of
our property.
Planted long ago by a previous
owner, I endure them.
When their whiteness glistens in
the sunlight,
I say thank you.
But it is always a hedged thanks.
A constrained,
reluctant
gratitude.
These flowers are poisonous you see.
Every bit of this bush is poison
to human creatures.
Scratches fester,
eyes itch,
and if you eat one?
An immediate trip the ER.
Somehow that knowledge makes
these beautiful things
far less beautiful to me.
And that is a good reminder,
especially as I jump into this
31-day-thing of celebrating beauty.
Not all that is beautiful is good for me.
And I need grace, wisdom,
and courage
to sort it out,
to be wise.
Because wisdom is beautiful too, don't you think?
