Last week I ventured to New Mexico to celebrate my sister’s birthday. My days were filled with slow walks on snow lined paths.
I admit, it felt strange to have the complete freedom to wander about freely with no pressing deadlines. It was theraputic.
Henry David Thoreau said this of walking:
I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who understood the art of Walking, that is of taking walks–who had a genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived “from idle people who roved about the country.”
Described me perfectly. Until…
Until I was stranded by weather on my return trip home and ended up stuck in a hotel in Seattle. I desperately needed a walk, so I escaped the confines of my hotel room and skated along streets frosted with slick snow.
I wasn’t alone. I watched a crow amble by, his footprints etched in the snow, marking this moment in time.
I bent low to study his tracks. Neat. Trim. Delicate carvings on an icy canvas.
Soon the tracks melted away and all evidence of the crow was erased. This caused me to contemplate my own tracks in life. Are they lasting? Is anyone following?
I want to walk wisely. To follow in the footsteps of the Lord. Those tracks last.
Show me the path where I should walk, O LORD; point out the right road for me to follow. Psalm 25:4
Care to join me on the journey?