This morning I got up determined to go on my full 1 ½ mile walk.
Never mind that I haven’t made it further than ¾ of a mile lately.
Never mind that I’m still limping along with a broken toe.
Never mind that I’m still recovering from a cold.
I live in a fantasy world and I was determined to make that fantasy a reality.
So off I went. The first part of my walk was great. I breathed in the fresh morning air. I noticed the crystal clear blue sky and the gorgeous reds, yellows, and oranges of the flowers along my path. I listened to the birds tweeting.
My heart was full and I thanked the Lord for these wonderful blessings.
Then, just as I rounded the halfway point and started to head back home again, I realized I was in trouble. My determination and my strength were fading fast. I immediately prayed for strength to finish my walk. Yes, I was willing to stop and sit for an hour, if that’s what it took to recover enough to get home. But. I really, really wanted to make it home.
I thought about my exercise support group and the bragging rights I’d have if I made it home. That was nowhere near enough to keep me moving.
I thought about the pioneers walking across the plains, sometimes with no shoes and bleeding feet. That didn’t do it for me either.
As I cried out to the Lord one final time before giving up, my mind caught on a testimony shared on Sunday. A man and his wife were traveling in their motor home. They were going up a hill, in first gear, at 10 miles an hour and failing fast. He looked at his wife and said, “I don’t think we’re going to make it.” They quickly said a silent prayer and then watched in amazement as their motor home crested the top of the hill. He said he should have checked the back of the vehicle to count the number of handprints left by the angels that pushed them over the top.
As I recalled this story, I prayed to the Lord specifically for that blessing—to have angels help push me along so that I could make it home.
That prayer was interrupted as I realized I was crossing the street and needed to pick up the pace before a van hit me. Three ladies walking opposite from me called out a hello. I saw a neighbor out with her dog, and gave her a quick hello wave. Then suddenly, there was my house. I had made it home. The Lord had sent distractions to occupy my conscious mind while my feet kept plodding along.
I immediately said a prayer of thanksgiving for getting me home, and also a prayer of thanks for the man who’d been inspired to share his testimony with me.
Sharing our experience, strength and hope is a big deal. We never know when something we say will lodge in a person’s memory and be the one thing that inspires them to keep going.
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