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| Stoney Creek on a cold, sunny winter day |
Upon the conclusion of this past gardening
season, I determined to resume frequent walks on my country roads come January 2022. Primarily for the benefits of fresh air and exercise.
Which includes a
wave to neighbors while they muck their barns, visit their mailboxes, or call for
their dogs. And a chance meeting with a familiar face passing on foot or behind
a steering wheel cheers me like a bright, blue sky on a winter day.
So, later I’ll
layer my clothing and lace my boots for a muddy stroll in sunshine. Incidentally,
my fondness for mud throws back to childhood when Mom praised my mud pies with
a genuine smile.
Which explains my
preference to saunter slushy, hilly, pot-holed roads rather than groomed trails.
I’m most content walking along Stoney Creek that resembles Peter Creek, the
stream that flows along my natal Kentucky home.
Now, I cannot attribute
my desire for outdoor recreation to my mother. A fair-skinned Scot-German who
avoided the blazing sun, Mom excelled in domestic skills such as cooking,
baking, sewing, and creating wedding cakes.
Her second of five
daughters, I did not inherit Mom’s steady eye and hand. I cannot embroider the
smallest piece without puckering the fabric, or draw a straight line.
Long ago, my few pathetic
knitted and crocheted efforts ended up in the trash can. My inventive mind sees
serpentine lines.
For instance, it’s
taken my dyslexic brain decades to befriend the lettered keyboard. The battle first
emerged in my sophomore Beginning Typing class with Mr. Walling when my grade regressed
from a B to a D.
This disqualified
me from the J.V. cheerleading squad for a miserable month. Meanwhile, I
practiced typing after school under Mr. Walling’s critical supervision.
Truly, I could’ve
never accomplished a writer’s life in this modern world without the intervention
of the word processor, cursor, and backspace keys.
However, when I
turn into my second mile, I’ve forgotten my search for the notched F and J keys.
With each step, the voice of sound reason returns—encouraging words that ease
the stress of my limitations and lift me to higher places.
As the waters of
Stoney Creek tumble over rocks and fallen logs, they speak sweet comfort, joy,
and guidance to my mind, soul, and spirit.
Today, I’ll bundle
up with a burdened heart for a steadfast and loving friend; a mother who held vigil
with her husband in a hospital for several days, praying for God’s will for
their elder son.
Dear Reader, amongst
the numerous blessings of dodging icy patches is communion with my Lord, Jesus—to
pause along open fields, forests, and Stoney Creek and appeal to Heaven for the
sick and bereaved.
And to remember God’s
mercy and grace found within my family’s losses, count them worthy to offer up in
prayer on behalf of my heartbroken friend and her family.
I’ll walk along
“Rivers of Living Waters” and pray for my friend and her grandchildren’s comfort.
For the healing of
the nations.
