Adam and I decided over dinner that I most certainly walked at least a mile again today, between an all-day work photoshoot, and a 2 hour engagement session. At least a mile.
The walking snuck up unintentionally though. And I'm learning there certainly demands a different posture when I choose to walk. Setting aside time, lacing up shoes, pulling out the fallen leaves that have gathered in the bottom of the jogging stroller. The ritual of it all shifts something. And as my feet touch pavement, or grass, or pebbles, I am aware of what's beneath my feet. Aware of the ways my breathing comes slow or ragged, the way I constantly shift the stroller right because it tends to pull left. I notice the leaves falling quickly, the breeze rustling them right out of their tenuous hold on branches.
So many things in life, I've learned and am learning, lean different when done intentionally. Connecting with your spouse. Spending time with your kids. Even cleaning. Certainly I spend time with my hubby and kiddos regardless of whether or not I do it with intentionality. We live together, and I am responsible for cleaning and getting places and bedtimes; and most of my time, as it turns out, gets spent with my children. But when I do things on purpose, rather than by default, that changes everything. My heart, perhaps, takes a different posture. Or maybe my eyes get opened to what I otherwise see only dimly. I dont know what it is, exactly. But I do know that I'm learning, even just by walking every day, the ways that doing things intentionally changes my heart towards them.
So I still spend most of my time with my children but spending it intentionally means I notice things. The freckles dusting his tiny nose. The way he hugs my arm and kisses my elbow before throwing the football and tackling himself to the ground. How she writes notes abundantly and bends low over her coloring pages. The way her hair sweeps across her forehead blonde still, but darker by the day.
The walking snuck up unintentionally though. And I'm learning there certainly demands a different posture when I choose to walk. Setting aside time, lacing up shoes, pulling out the fallen leaves that have gathered in the bottom of the jogging stroller. The ritual of it all shifts something. And as my feet touch pavement, or grass, or pebbles, I am aware of what's beneath my feet. Aware of the ways my breathing comes slow or ragged, the way I constantly shift the stroller right because it tends to pull left. I notice the leaves falling quickly, the breeze rustling them right out of their tenuous hold on branches.
So many things in life, I've learned and am learning, lean different when done intentionally. Connecting with your spouse. Spending time with your kids. Even cleaning. Certainly I spend time with my hubby and kiddos regardless of whether or not I do it with intentionality. We live together, and I am responsible for cleaning and getting places and bedtimes; and most of my time, as it turns out, gets spent with my children. But when I do things on purpose, rather than by default, that changes everything. My heart, perhaps, takes a different posture. Or maybe my eyes get opened to what I otherwise see only dimly. I dont know what it is, exactly. But I do know that I'm learning, even just by walking every day, the ways that doing things intentionally changes my heart towards them.
So I still spend most of my time with my children but spending it intentionally means I notice things. The freckles dusting his tiny nose. The way he hugs my arm and kisses my elbow before throwing the football and tackling himself to the ground. How she writes notes abundantly and bends low over her coloring pages. The way her hair sweeps across her forehead blonde still, but darker by the day.
And so tomorrow I will walk intentionally. And hope that the Lord continues to use my steps to teach me about my place as wife and mother, about loving carefully and well, and mostly about noticing.
(pictures from my photoshoot, during which - intentionally or not - I walked at least a mile)
Many people nowadays live in a series of interiors - home, car, gym, office, shops - disconnected from each other. On foot everything stays connected, for while walking one occupies the spaces between those interiors in the same way one occupies those interiors. One lives in the whole world rather than in interiors built up against it. (from Wanderlust).