An interesting spiritual exercise

I walk.

A lot.

I started about 15 years ago when I got diagnosed with diabetes. Since then I’ve walked miles most days and now my family doesn’t know where the hell I am.

Ah me! I slay me!

But seriously, I do walk a lot. Four to seven miles is not uncommon for me. And living in one of the greenest places in the US affords me lots of chances to find back streets and parks and trails where I don’t have to worry about getting killed by a car as I read or pray. You just need a basic awareness of your surroundings and an ear out for the occasional slow moving car on back streets.

Yes, I did say I read while I walk. I am an inveterate reader-walker. I’ve done it for years, with multiple trips through THE LORD OF THE RINGS and THE HOBBIT, as well as explorations of DAVID COPPERFIELD, DANDELION WINE, Herodotus, GREAT EXPECTATIONS, Andrew Lang’s fairy stories, lots of Scripture, George MacDonald, A VOYAGE TO ARCTURUS, and bunch of other titles I can’t remember at present. Kindles are great for this, because they weigh the same no matter how many hundreds of books you lard them with. Currently, I’m on A STUDY IN SCARLET, starring Mr. Sherlock Holmes of 221B Baker Street.

One reader told me I needed to take a dog with me, but I declined, explaining that neither God nor my Kindle poop and I prefer not having to clean up such messes.

For, of course, in addition to reading, I use walking for prayer. Indeed, I prefer praying while walking when I am praying alone since it has the great virtue of keeping me awake. (I am terrible if I pray alone and seated or, God forbid, lying down. I tend to nod off every time.)

Recently, I tried an interesting spiritual exercise on my walk. I just spent about a half an hour or so thanking God for everything I could remember from my early childhood. I made it as far as first grade, circa 1964. It’s sort of like pulling at roots. The more you pull, the more you find and memories you have not thought about in decades, start to surface. It was really quite wonderful to recall people and places and things (a plastic ball with butterflies inside it that twirled as it rolled) that have to date back to about 1961 or 62. I want to try doing it some more. I am trying to give thanks for each memory, mostly because I think thanks are due God for it all, but also I want to see what He does in the conversation. One remarkable thing I have noticed is that many bad things are forgotten and many more have the strange quality of being seen as part of the good. It reminds me of a priest I know (who I think was a saint). He used to say that when he had a hard time liking somebody, he imagined they were a character from Dickens, and that made it alright. Long ago pains and sufferings have the strange habit of somehow becoming golden by their place in a past for which I am, on the whole, deeply grateful.

Give it a try. It’s rather surprising how much stuff is still up there in that noggin of mine.