Walk With Purpose

I walked more than four decades. Whereas I once walked mostly for the pleasure of it, I eventually did it as a health measure to balance the time I spent reading, studying, writing, visiting parishioners, and attending administrative activities. 

Today is Easter and Spring is everywhere in Kentucky, but I remember the peaceful exhilaration I felt as a teen growing up on Lake Michigan shores walking in a snowstorm. With flakes driving down from every direction, the snow crunching crisply underfoot felt so very peaceful to me. I especially remember those late night walks to and from basketball games on cold, crisp, snowy nights.

In my youth we walked everywhere. Dad walked to and from work. I see his portly five-seven frame swinging along in his overalls eighty years ago. From first grade into high school, I walked to and from school, walking to Indiana Avenue grade school an the longer walks to Central. It was a good three-quarter mile to Central and I generally walked it four times a day. I remember often having a joyful few minutes of noon soccer time on the Superior Street playground before the afternoon bell rang.

I still walked occasionally after I became a pastor, but it was not popular. When living in the Mississippi Delta, the church had a PO Box and I occasionally enjoyed a good walk to town and the Post Office. That proved problematic, however; too many people recognized me and I’d have to turn down their ride, if I was going to fulfill my purpose in walking.

Then I had my accident in 1985. I was working inside and mostly alone when we were completing our new church facility in Three Rivers, MI, I was working up inside the gable on the south end of the sanctuary doing something or other and I foolishly attempted to adjust the platform on which I was standing. I caused the steel pipe scaffold to collapse. Fearing impalement, I jumped clear and came down more than twenty feet shattering my ankle and crunching my lower back in a twenty-foot free fall.

It was a careless accident-that eventually left me standing considerably shorter than my normal five foot nine frame, although I didn‘t realize it at the time. While in the military, I had learned to stand rigidly erect and I habitually walked almost “march time;” for many years. You could count cadence with my assertive walk: “Hup, two, three, four . . . “

After I got off my crutches, my son would scold me, “quit slouching, dad, stand up straight.”

“I am standing up straight!” I would snap, squaring my shoulders and stretching as tall as I could--stepping as straight as possible. But I continued having lots of ankle pain and limited mobility until I discovered that walking gave my ankle more flexibility and less pain. This started my intentional walking. 

By this time in my life, I discovered that a brisk walk refreshed me. And that encouraged me to plan a regular walking routine. Admittedly, sometimes I still needed motivation; walking an hour every day can get tedious. I soon learned how to motivate my walks by giving myself occasional treats of hotcakes and sausage at McDonalds--3 ½ mile roundtrip. That may not have been the healthiest breakfast, but it proved motivationally effective. I dearly love hot cakes and sausage.

That was during my final pastorate, and I found that I was often walking 20-25 miles a week, across several mornings. Often leaving the house before breakfast, I walked all over our little town … sometimes intersecting with Roland, my Lutheran pastor friend and we shared a passing Shalom of some kind, without lingering, both of us being serious walkers.   

My favorite jaunt was the abandoned railroad line behind our new sixty-five acre church campus. I could follow that abandoned spur as far east as I wanted, out into open country, but most often turned off at the east rim of town and wandered back to the parsonage via one of several different routes, anywhere from one to three miles, occasionally five, seldom further.

I was still walking past eighty. No longer able to walk like I once did, I found it getting more difficult all the time. Unable to maintain the brisk pace I once did, I did the next best thing; I walked as fast as I could--thankfully. Back problems finally caught up with me and I was finally forced to stop altogether.

I remember when I tried to get my aging father to walk. I wanted to enhance his life, improve his health, and keep him around as long as I could--only to hear him complain, “But my knees hurt.”

That frustrated and angered me. I didn’t doubt that he hurt, but I saw no reason to quit. I remembered when he became City Street Commissioner and drove around town in his pickup, supervising jobs--always accompanied by a box of chocolate candy on the seat. Of course his weight ballooned! When I complained about his 235 pounds, his only comment was “When you get to be thirty-five, you’ll start looking just like me.” He never understood the fire he ignited!

Take care of yourself I heard … exercise. Do whatever is necessary, but stay trim. I already knew my work was too sedentary.

When he finally retired and took to his Lazy Boy, I urged him to walk--at least a little--it’s good for the soul. Walk up and down the driveway! Walk up and down the block! Take your cane, if you need to, but walk … at least walk a little.” He died alone in the hospital, early Sunday morning, the last day of 1990, at 85--the same age my Grandma died, but she walked to town that day!

“I’d just as soon die with my boots on!” I always said. Eventually, I came to the point where most steps I took were steps of pain. I learned take a pain pill before starting a walk, When I got up in the morning I would turn on the coffee pot; I might be as stiff as a board, but I was going to walk anyway, until it got to the point that I could hardly make it back to the house after a walk to town.

As I now approach my ninety-first mile marker, I have rediscovered walking. There were several years of being a caregiver to my mate and many a day I accompanied her with her walker (stroller we called it) or a 4-pronged cane, until she became bedfast. The day she finally died at ninety-one, I rediscovered walking. I was becoming more unsteady on my feet and I decided to pick up her cane and “try" it. 

Very soon thereafter, I decided to “experiment” by walking to the cull de sac at the end of out street. Well! I made it. I made it well enough that I decided I would again start walking rather than spending so much time sitting at the computer. As a result, I renewed my love for walking and am now extending my trips a block at a time, and I am again fulfilling my practice of thirty-minute walks – a little slower but I am keeping on keeping on.

And what’s good for the body is good for the soul. I already know there‘s not much gain without a little pain. I accept that, and I take James 4:14-15 to mean keep walking. Keep walking in the faith that when we do what is right, God will be there doing what He does best--whatever is best for us. I will continue trusting Him, knowing that when I don’t understand His answer, I can lean on Him as my answer.

That’s what Paul told Timothy: I know whom I have believed, and I am persuaded that He is able to keep that which I have committed unto Him (2 Tim. 1:12). Seeing may be believing but I don’t have to peek around the corner to “see” precisely where I’m going. That’s walking by sight rather than faith.

Sometimes I‘d just as soon not see too far ahead, but I can also tell you that from Warner’s World, I’m satisfied to keep on walking--determined actually. It is the only way since I am not yet ready for confinement to my Lazy Boy
_____ walkingwithwarner.blogspot.com