So lately I have been going for a walk.
I slip into my Lorna Janes with my matching but not too matchy matchy retro fluoro but not totally because that was the 80’s runners with low cut socks, my hair in a swingy ponytail and my posture that says, I do this all the time, but not totally all the time, I’m just naturally good looking, and off I go.
The alternative scenario would be that I look on the floor for those long shorts that are almost pants to wear because I haven’t shaved my legs, and the t shirt that I slept in the night before, but OH well if it smells people with think I have done a LOT of exercise, I put on my sandals that let my bunion be free in the breeze because I don’t own any runners and I stomp along begrudgingly hoping I won’t pass any other walkers going the opposite way because I hate navigating that awkward do I say hello like a weird stalker or dart furtively towards a tree because I have a sudden interest in the foliage of Acacias.
I’ll leave it for you to decide.
I walk along briskly thanking the Lord along the way for lighting my path with glorious sunlight, listening to the birds sing their joyful song. I count my blessing as I stride purposefully towards the blissful nirvana of exercise exhaustion.
Or perhaps I drag my girth along with slumped shoulders, arguing with God the whole way like a nagging wife in the car (I've NEVER been a nagging wife in a car but I have heard they exist). Why don’t you do this? why did you do it THAT way? Can’t you see I need THIS? And as I step out of the sunlit street under the cool refreshment of a tree fashioned by God’s own hand a bird releases his bowels on my head.
Its hard to spot the reality I know…
As I check my pedometer, I ponder the riches of my life and how “blessed” I am to have state of the art running gear, a spa to recline in after all my hard work, and a low fat, low carb, gluten free, dairy free, super stylish meal to prepare and snap a shot of with my super naughty glass of wine for my social media friends. *cheers*
Maybe as I wonder when this torturous journey will end I look at the path I am on, with its neatly manicured lawn, the odd gum nut, and absolute silence and serenity and I think about Kevin. Kevin sits on a different street. He lives in Kolkata on a wooden trolley because he has no hands or feet. Kevin begs. Begs for food. Begs for money. Begs for freedom that he will surely never experience in this lifetime. (I’ll give you a tip, his name is clearly NOT Kevin, I doubt there are any Kevins in Kolkata, but that’s what I’m calling him until I meet him again and ask him his name) *Hey Kevin let’s take a snap to update your social media status*
I sure hope I’m the Lorna Jane jogger in this adventure…
So Jesus walks with me and starts to talk to me about how he lived and how he wants to tell me/Oh wait did that girl just ride past with one of those vintage bikes? I want to get one of those but I’m not sure if I should get pink, blue, teal or lemon? I mean is lemon a bit 2013?
So Jesus walks with me and starts to talk to me about how he lived and how he wants to tell me/ Oh wait, Lord please help me to stop obsessing in my mind, help me to stop solving unsolvable scenarios, help me to walk with you. And so Jesus walks with me and starts to talk to me about how he lived and how he wants to tell me how to follow him. Take off your sandals, or your fluoro running shoes, go over to Kevin there and show him how much I love him. Go and repent of your greed, your gluttony and your selfishness and serve my loved son Kevin who has been thrown out like the trash.
Choose your own adventure, God won’t choose it for you.