When You Are 5'9" Tall

Walking at the pace of three inches a step is a problem.

And I guess that is what Lent is all about.

Lent is a liturgical season in which a person struggles to improve, and get back with God.

Since I am struggling already, to improve my communication with God, improve my behavior, and change my ways, I thought I would make my Lent count by really sticking it to myself.

No not cigarettes, which I like to sneak into my life by borrowing them from my neighbor. No not candy, which I like to eat at 9:30 at night. Almond Joys. No not coffee, which fuels and softens my work and school life. No not daily mass, which would be simple, the church is two blocks away. No not anything that I have done before. I posted, awhile back, what it would be.

Walking at the same pace as my small, crippled dog. Three inches at a time. I do not have to measure her stride. I have witnessed this stride for six years.

I couldn't be more miserable, as of today. The sun is shining, no wind, and the walking paths are primo.

I did know that walking three inches at a time would be a problem for me. I do not like the pace. Obviously, it does not fit with the legs that God gave me. Nor the innate sense of challenge, or the wish to walk off emotional pain.

It does however, present opportunity.

I have implemented numerous stretching exercises, which take place as my body is still.

I have changed my breathing.

I have changed the inner demand for acceleration by consciously saying 'no.'

I am saying 'no' to myself.

And this is the center point of this discipline.

I have gotten up earlier, and I have dedicated more time to the walk.

I have stopped saying what I always say to T.T.Marie, the slow and crippled dog: 'Hurry Up!'

I have stopped looking two blocks back, yelling: 'Come on Re-Re!'

The walk now, is perfectly quiet. It is quiet because I have shut my mouth.

I have stopped 'going somewhere.'

When she stops to sit down, I stop.

I look at tree branches.

I watch water drip off twigs.

I look at my feet, and I thank my boots.

I peel off a layer, and tie it to my mid-section.

I look around me.

Today, I watched a blue bird, (not a blue jay), fly in front of my face. It is a very small bird cast in a blue color that you see NO WHERE. The color blue I want for every piece of clothing that I own, yet the color blue that can not be found anywhere in a store. Deeper than navy. And in some way, translucent.

Yesterday, I saw two eagles in a new nest.

I walk this trail regularly.

The nest was not there, three days ago.

A new nest is something significant. It means they are here to stay. They have decided to build a nest. They have selected their location.

They have made a decision, which I have witnessed.

One flew immediately. The other lingered in a scragglycircled patch of (newly) found twigs and branches. As we approached, three inches at a time, the second eagle took flight, almost above my head. I saw the colors of the feathers. I saw the pattern of the feathers. I saw the lumbering exit from the nest. The eagle burdened by its weight, dropped in elevation then stabilized to achieve height. It followed its mate, across the lake ice, to the other side...away from the crazy woman, and the crippled dog walking three inches at a time.