I'll See You Reach the Wizard, Whether I Get a Heart or Not

Abby walks into things. Sometimes, because she's thinking about something else, or because her thoughts have already jumped ahead to the end result of her trek across the room, she doesn't see the obstacle right in front of her and she walks SMACK into the corner of a counter, or straight into a chair, or directly into the dog. In a way, it's admirable the way that she bumps and falls -- flat out, WHAM, KNOCK, SPLAT. No catching herself, no double-takes, no fear, just some bruises and a few tears, and then she's off again, usually in pursuit of the same goal.

My walking is going pretty well, although still not great. My balance is still bumbly when I'm tired, and my right leg just won't get with the program. It's really easy to knock me over -- just ask the dog, the baby, the hatchback on the minivan. There's been a noticeable improvement, though, since I got some orthotics from the podiatrist. These were to correct my arches which went blooey when I got pregnant, apparently, like everything else did. My abs and back -- my core -- continue to be weak and I think that's the key now.

When Abby and I spend the day together, it doesn't take a detective to notice the similarities. We both have to use our arms to push us up from a lying-down to a sitting-up position, and to stand up. We both stumble around and are easily knocked over; our balance is unenviable. Her strong legs both work just fine, and she doesn't limp like Mommy; even though she likes to play with my cane, God willing, she'll never need it. But it is really remarkable how similar my physical state resembles that of a baby girl who's really still learning how to walk.

I've started taking a walk for exercise each day. I love it. I never understood it when my parents (and other old people) said, "I have to keep moving" to address their pain from arthritis, etc., but it's absolutely true. When I keep moving, it's like the Tin Man finding the oil. When I sit too long, conversely, getting up and moving to the car is really ridiculous -- my legs hardly work at all and I limp along like Igor.

I'm helping to lead an adult ed class in my Episcopal church called "Living the Questions." One of our sessions recently described the ancient/modern practice of walking the labryinth. I used to think that labryinths were mazes, but in fact there is no way to get stuck in a labryinth -- the point is not a challenge, but a meditative experience of walking in a pattern that has over the ages been shown to ease the mind, open the spirit, allow for God to step in.

On one of my recent walks, it had just cleared after a heavy rain and there were worms and bugs all over the place. What I noticed was they were all walking the wrong way. It's hard to explain what I mean -- they just all seemed to be walking in a direction calculated toward their immediate demise. And they were everywhere. Like people?

The modern thing for a boss in an office is not to have you come to their office. It's to come to your space and say, "Walk with me," and make you walk along beside them while they lecture/motivate/berate you. Jesus said "Take up your cross and walk with me." Very different, I think. For one thing, His invitation was optional, although I think it broke his heart when people refused him.

I've given up on walking next to a boss and, I think, given up on walking in self-destructive paths with the other worms. I'm trying very hard to walk with Jesus, and trying to keep moving, to keep the joints oiled. I keep bumping along, though, running smack into things when I'm not looking up and knocked over a bit too easily. Being a mom has, as usual, completely changed the equation, though. Watching Abby learn to walk, I realize that whether or not there is hope for my walk -- literal or figurative -- the most important thing is that she will walk long and strong and true, and I'll help her the best I can. Like the creaky, rusty old Tin Man said to Dorothy, "I'll see you reach the Wizard, whether I get a heart or not."