In the Long Run
"Isn't it better to look down rather than up so you don't trip," she asked.
"It is better but if you only look down, you'll never see anything around you," I replied.
"The surest way to not trip is to focus on the ground in front of you," she said.
But I was made for the hard road.
It is a cool misty May morning and I'm on the left shoulder of the road. The brim of my hat is high so that I can focus on the obstacles I have to conquer - the inclines and the glowing traffic light that represents the turn far off in the distance that hopefully gets closer as one foot goes in front of the other. But then an oncoming 45 mile-per-hour truck sprays and winds by, taking my hat in its wake. So I have to look back and pick up my hat.
Now the brim is low making me focus on the ground in front of me. The stones, once centered in the middle of the road have been cast to the margins. Jesus said, "Lift up the stone and you will find Me there." Focus on the ground in front of me. The opossum's corpse on the storm water grate. Dead and decaying with most of its fur having passed on through the grate. Yes, focus on the the ground in front of me.
Until the hanging wet hard branch meets my face. It doesn't really hurt but churns up the fight and flight from underneath which is worse than any physical pain. Until I pass another that I was sure to run into had I not looked up at the last moment before the collision. Another fight and flight.
So, I'm in the balance. Looking down and looking up. Grateful to see another's wave and acknowledge our millisecond connection. I'm not afraid of the oncoming cars but the cracks in the sidewalk scare me to death. They're waiting to trip me up and break my thumb, or the bones in my mother's foot, or if I don't pay attention to where the concrete ends, to crack my skull in three places.
But I was made for the hard road. To focus on the ground in front of me with frequent glances at what's up ahead. And never looking back except to pick up my hat.
"It is better but if you only look down, you'll never see anything around you," I replied.
"The surest way to not trip is to focus on the ground in front of you," she said.
But I was made for the hard road.
It is a cool misty May morning and I'm on the left shoulder of the road. The brim of my hat is high so that I can focus on the obstacles I have to conquer - the inclines and the glowing traffic light that represents the turn far off in the distance that hopefully gets closer as one foot goes in front of the other. But then an oncoming 45 mile-per-hour truck sprays and winds by, taking my hat in its wake. So I have to look back and pick up my hat.
Now the brim is low making me focus on the ground in front of me. The stones, once centered in the middle of the road have been cast to the margins. Jesus said, "Lift up the stone and you will find Me there." Focus on the ground in front of me. The opossum's corpse on the storm water grate. Dead and decaying with most of its fur having passed on through the grate. Yes, focus on the the ground in front of me.
Until the hanging wet hard branch meets my face. It doesn't really hurt but churns up the fight and flight from underneath which is worse than any physical pain. Until I pass another that I was sure to run into had I not looked up at the last moment before the collision. Another fight and flight.
So, I'm in the balance. Looking down and looking up. Grateful to see another's wave and acknowledge our millisecond connection. I'm not afraid of the oncoming cars but the cracks in the sidewalk scare me to death. They're waiting to trip me up and break my thumb, or the bones in my mother's foot, or if I don't pay attention to where the concrete ends, to crack my skull in three places.
But I was made for the hard road. To focus on the ground in front of me with frequent glances at what's up ahead. And never looking back except to pick up my hat.
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