Our Walk

by arianne

Post image for Our Walk

The crunch under boots, whining about the sun in their eyes, left over rain water running down the street, it escapes to the drains.

We are on a walk.

Living out in the sticks means a “walk” is more of a hike through this low country, and an outing that requires water and an extra diaper shoved in the back pocket (just in case).  There will likely be injuries, most likely tears, to the knee and to the heart (because mama didn’t pack snacks).  There will be weird finds, and most likely mud.  We will dredge through all of it, for the journey.

Boy learns about gooey slug pods in the pond, other boy learns a messy lesson about running in the mud.  They all laugh and appreciate that one is tall while the other is strong. The other is just funny, but we need that too.

Their strengths compliment.  It gets them through their walk.  They talk about Mabel, how much she would love the view.  That gets us through our walk too.

We come home, wash each mud speck off.  Maybe need a change of clothes.  We are clean, feeling washed anew.  The walk was fun, and so hard at times.  Sometimes we wondered why we were even there.  But now clean, we can see it.  Feel the reason for those moments, the reason for that time.


Each day I am amazed at how God purges and cleans and wrings me out.  My Walk is being washed clean.  Some parts of it seem so futile, others seem so unnecessary.  I don’t understand is said, thought, felt, way too often.  All the wondering why it has to be this way, while also understanding why it has to be this way.

All of this since Mabel.  She was the catalyst for so much.  I can’t thank her enough for that.

Her life, her death. Transforming.  I can’t wait to thank her for that.


There is such a relief in being made clean, after all the bumps and bruises and mud and falling down.  Over and over and over. The falling.  He lets me fall, some times are harder than others.  They leave deeper wounds.  Sometimes I can’t escape being hurt, no matter how careful or strong.

He lets me get muddy and feel the pang of being unprepared or exhausted or needy or just — lacking.

It makes the washing so much sweeter, these less desirable parts of the journey.  The crying along the way is not in vain — crying in grief, for salvation, for thanks.  He knows every tear.

I put on this change of clothes, this new me, this new way to be.  I didn’t ask for it or expect it or see it.  I embrace it, because that is the only choice.  I love it, because that is the only way.  I let it move me, and I it.

And then start walking again.

Linked with Chatting at the Sky today…

**To see more photos from our walk peruse my Flickr page.

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