Letters

An Open Letter to the Walker with the Cane

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We first met at the north end of the G.T. Bray baseball field’s parking lot. It was still dark, around 6:30 this morning. We greeted each other as I ran by, probably both assuming that was “one and done.”

After I finished my loop of the south end of the softball fields, I passed you again less than 10 minutes later as we headed to the east entrance of the park. We didn’t speak.

Another 20 minutes had passed when I came upon you again, this time not too far south from our first passing. You had made the entire loop, and I was circling back to leave the park by the west entrance.

As I got closer to you, you moved to your right, sensing someone coming. I thought to myself, “Good for him for keeping a steady pace. It can’t be easy to convince yourself to do another loop when you’re walking a slow pace using a cane.”

As I ran by this third time, we both spoke. I started first.

“Have a good day!”

In almost the same moment you said, “You’re making me feel bad.”

In the moment, I knew what you meant. My quick reply was a feeble effort to encourage you. “You’re doing great!”

Unfortunately, I never got a good look at you. The first passing was in the dark; the other two, I came from behind. Other than you had on a yellow shirt and sporting a head bandana, all I could tell was you were out for an early morning walk through the park, moving at a respectable pace for someone depending on a cane for support.

Had I not been on a tight schedule, I would have stopped to learn more. Have you been injured recently? Did you have surgery and now in rehab? Is this a lifelong challenge for you or just a temporary season of healing? I don’t know. But let me tell you four things I do know.

During my hour-long run, I passed a total of seven other people. Everyone else was walking, with the exception of the lady we both passed sitting on the park bench by the soccer fields. You were one of seven folks up and at it this morning. Whatever it took for you to get up and to the park and on the trail, you outdid thousands of others. That’s something to feel good about.

As for those other walkers, no one else was reliant on a cane. You didn’t let your dependence stigmatize you. You didn’t allow it to be an excuse. You had the determination to do the best you could in your current situation. That’s something to feel good about.

Another reply to your comment that I said to myself on my final half mile was, “Dude. You’re aren’t six feed under. You are not in bed. You are up and moving.” I don’t know what it took for you to be moving that early, but that’s something to feel good about.

The final thing I know is something I’ve told myself many times during runs and especially during races. Whatever someone else is doing that I’m tempted to compare myself to-pace, distance, etc.-it isn’t about what they are doing. It’s about what I’m doing. I know what it took to get to the start line. I’ve got an idea what it’s going to take to cross the finish line. I’m going to stick to what I’m doing. Good on them for what they’re doing.

My guess is you did at least two loops around the park this morning. You started before the sun rose. You did it alone. And you got it done. You, walking with a cane, did more than the average well-bodied person will do today. That’s something to feel good about.

Based on how your started it, odds are the rest of your day was good. Here’s to seeing you in the park again on another good day!

Photo by david Griffiths on Unsplash

Post It Note Prayers

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Yesterday, I had a first. My pastor’s wife sent me a handwritten letter; never gotten one from any pastor’s wife. It was a gracious note of thanks. I want to share a little of it and then reveal an observation.

Dear John,

…Six years ago we spent money on a keyboard. We had no one that played keys, but we went ahead and purchased the keyboard for the church. There were so many weeks, months, and even years the keyboard went untouched, and the post it note of a prayer request sat on the wall of the office. It read, “A keyboard player.” We all prayed and we waited; we believed God would bring someone who would want to serve in worship and use their giftings on that keyboard. This past Sunday I was reminded that GOD IS FAITHFUL-not always in the timing we want but always in His perfect timing! Thank you…

Cool story, right? What she didn’t know, and no one at church knew until now, was that God and I had a completely different conversation that same Sunday about my playing keys at church. I mean completely different.

Not to go into too much detail, but very few people really know the work I’ve done over the years to not be too hard on myself when it comes to music, particularly playing the piano/keys. I’ll never live up to my perfectionistic expectations, and sometimes it gets the best of me. That Sunday it did.

After the worship set, I was pretty much in a wrestling match with God, couldn’t concentrate on what the pastor was saying due to all the guilt and overreacting stuff that comes with perceived failure. If I’d written a post it note in that moment, I’d probably had to have immediately brought it forward for confession, if you know what I mean. There wouldn’t have been anything holy about it.

If I’ve learned nothing else in these moments in my adult life, I’ve learned that 99.9% of the people that were in the same room have no idea what I’m thinking about that “failure” and would say if they did, “What are you talking about?” The honest ones would say, “Get over it, John.” And my real friends would say, “Get over yourself, John!”

God and I talked about this for the next 10 hours. That conversation is between me and him. But the end result was my acknowledging I knew the solution and had been holding out on it. A figurative post it note I’d had for a few months was more a “want” than a “need.” And in this case, God showed me that the want wasn’t necessary, and the need was actually more important. I got over myself.

There are numerous observations from these two stories about a Sunday service and a keyboard. But the one I most appreciate is this: God has zero problems having multiple conversations with his children at the same time about the same thing going in completely different directions.

That’s my God.

That’s worth another post it note.

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash