Taking A Walk...

Yesterday, for some crazy reason, our outdoor temperatures spiked to 70 degrees. At the nudging of my sister, who was herself too busy to take advantage of the weather, I decided to get Noah set up in his sling so we could go out for a walk. It was quickly coming onto his naptime, but I knew with some rhythmic walking, I could probably lull him to sleep while we were out. So though he was fussing a bit, I quickly got dressed, put on gym shoes, got his binkie and hat, put socks on him and my iPod on me, and we headed out.

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As promised, the weather was A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. Truly, Noah probably didn't need his hat OR his socks (but we kept them on for propriety's sake). It was very sunny and bright, which became the determining factor for which direction we headed, since Noah was already a bit agitated, and sun in his eyes only made it worse. So instead of walking through nearby neighborhoods, as I usually do, we headed south to Forest Park. He calmed down within a few blocks, and by the time I was heading into the main part of the park, he had nodded off, just as I had hoped he would.

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In order to keep him asleep I really had to keep moving, so I turned up the music on my iPod and headed in an arbitrary direction. A few songs later, my iPod shuffled to a long-time favorite of mine, the original recording of "You Raise Me Up". (NOT the Josh Grobin one. Yuck.) This was a song that had helped me through the rough adjustment of moving away from my friends and life post-college, a song whose words have always affected me powerfully. So I smiled when it came on, enjoying its lovely instrumentation as I walked in the lovely weather with my lovely son sleeping peacefully in my arms.

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It was around the middle of the song that I began to recognize the particular area of the park I had reached, one that was familiar to me. I racked my brain, trying to remember the last time I had been to this particular spot, when realization washed over me. A little over a year ago, I sat on these rocks next to this stream, with my walking shoes and my iPod, trying to make sense of a miscarriage that had just occurred a few days before. I had been hurting, physically, with waves of cramps that kept me homebound for the first several days. Finally, I had felt the need to get out and work through some of the pain, both physically and emotionally. I took a walk and had found myself here.

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As the memory of that other walk came back to me, the song I was listening to reached these words:

There is no life - no life without its hunger;
Each restless heart beats so imperfectly;
But when you come and I am filled with wonder,
Sometimes, I think I glimpse eternity.

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...and I just looked down at my sweet, tiny child, and began to cry. Because on that October day, I had been filled with hunger and restlessness-- aching for a baby I wouldn't get to keep. It was so hard that day. And that walk was important in my healing process. But today-- today, I was seeing something I could not have imagined on that other day. "When you come...I am filled with wonder...Sometimes I think I glimpse eternity..." My baby boy, my own sweet child, who came and filled that ache. Who stayed when the other child could not. And today, I was in a place where I could see how my life had come full circle.

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So I headed to a place where I felt privacy, and said a long, emotional prayer to my Father in Heaven. How could I not? I owe all that I am and all that I have to Him, and gratitude of the magnitude I was feeling needed to be expressed. He needed to know I recognized His hand in this.

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It was a funny-looking prayer, to an outsider-- I was standing at a lakefront, I had my baby in his sling, and I was bouncing and swaying steadily to keep him asleep as I murmured under my breath and wiped tears away periodically. Silly image, sure, but one of the tenderest moments I have had in a long time.

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I wasn't going to take that walk, yesterday. Reason pointed at many other ways I could spend my time. But I am deeply grateful I did... and that I was led to a moment of epiphany that pierced my heart. And I am so grateful for the little boy in my arms, and the trust my Lord has put in me to raise him and bring him back to Him someday.

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When things look so bleak you can hardly breathe, when pain is so great you think it will never feel better... Maybe we need to trust that there will be a day in the future where that ache will not just disappear, but be transformed into the most marvelous gift...

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It happened to me, while taking a simple walk.

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