an essay on walking
There are things in life that are hard, but good & sometimes you choose them thinking they're good for you, pleasing to you. And they make you more like Christ, even though they don't make you more happy all the time. People tell you that they're hard and you pretend to listen - but you really think they're good. A little while later and you're waist deep and you believe those people now, but then you see Christ in yourself and you smile. Marriage, Mothering. Those things are like that.
But there isn't a ton of stuff that you walk into knowing just how hard it is and still doing it willingly. Except when you walk and push three kids in a massive stroller a few times each week up and down the hills in your neighborhood. In the morning, I start thinking about. "oh poop. we have to go on a walk today. i need the exercise, they need to get out. i WILL do it." Then at lunch, "oh man - that walk is coming up". Then after naptime, I go ahead and tell the kids we're going on a w-a-l-k, just so I can't get out of it. Load up that massive train stroller and set out.
Sure it's great that Glory is so happy her little toes twirl just above the pavement. It's sweet that Elias gets to see all the cars and the puppups and that he still thinks it is a small miracle that we can WALK to the store and don't even need a car. I appreciate that Benjamin looks into the sunlight and falls asleep smiling at my grunting face that is glistening with sweat and is lit from behind by the brightness. All that stuff is nice, but I hate that walk.
Every step, every psycho push up the hilly roads... I know how hard it is and I hate it and I hope I never have to do it again. But I know I'll do it again soon. But I guess life is full, each day is full of those things.
Hard, heaving walks that seem fruitless and are worth more than our eyes can see.