Walking in Grace

Papa wanted me to walk. Much to my present regret, however, I was not exactly cooperative. After he died, I knew that this was something I had to do for him, so now I walk almost daily. As the sweet fragrance of honeysuckle lures me down our quiet, peaceful country road each evening, I look toward the heavens and smile. I'm pretty sure he sees me at least some of the time.

Though still a bit painful, these walks have become a cherished part of my days. As I walk, I pray for the people who are dear to me, and I seek God's guidance for my own life. The grazing cattle don't seem to notice. Sometimes my knees feel as rusty and creaky as this old gate, but this, too, shall pass. On my initial outing, I barely made it to the neighbor's mailbox, but after only three months I now often come within sight of the landmark I was able to reach ten years ago when my legs were much stronger. Before too long, I hope to reach the top of that hill and even go down the other side. I may never be able to run, but by God's grace, I can walk!