Hubby walks eight to ten kilometres (four to six miles) per day, six days a week. Like employees of the United States postal service: "Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds." (Well, almost perfectly - he doesn't walk at night.) Then there is our neighbour. At close to seventy years of age he races around the community oval track as if there was nothing to it.
I, on the other hand, walk far less than Hubby and far slower than our friend. Trucking along at my best pace, I and my cane are slowly increasing the number of times we circle the track and I'm feeling pretty good about it. Having said that, I have to remind myself that mobility challenges mean that I'll never be able to whiz around the oval in the way that I see young people run; learning how to get out of their way, given the number of times they pass me in any given lap, is a major accomplishment.
One of the things I find most encouraging in my almost-daily trek is the diversity of walkers: there are children; high school students practicing for track competitions; young adults and older folk. Like me, some use canes or walkers but in contrast, some adults whose heads are adorned with snow white hair are like the neighbour - swift as deer. The most important thing, though, is that we're all going at our own pace, all doing our best.
I love what the writer of the book of Hebrews said: "Since we have such a huge crowd of men of faith watching us from the grandstands…let us run with patience the particular race that God has set before us." (Hebrews 12:1-3)
God's assignment. Our best. His smile!
