Walking is good for the soul

Today I must finish responding to a student's 50-page thesis draft; plan two medieval dances to teach a group of honors students; research hotels in Venice and catacomb tours for Rome; reckon my tax returns, read Book 8 of Middlemarch, and prepare lessons on Paradise Lost. 

Some Saturdays, this ambitious list would have me burrowing into my pillow for an extra hour, reluctant to begin a non-stop day, especially after a month of Saturdays filled with moving plans, preparation, and labor. This morning, however, I did far better thing: I went for a walk.

After sleeping, walking is one of my Favorite Things. For my first nine years of school, I walked between home and school nearly every day, and and we almost always walked to church, as well. In college, when I did not own a car, I walked not only to class, but to church, for errands, and for recreation. I would spend hours wandering the neighborhoods around campus, or making wide circuits on the walking and biking trail by the railroad tracks. During grad school, I took advantage of a beautiful riverside walking trail that ran behind Baylor's Law School and athletic facilities. I paced that trail while chewing on thesis statements, praying, laughing with friends, wondering if I could be in love, listening to new music, dreaming of life after the dissertation.

Here in Alabama, our campus is beautiful for walking, but my apartment, dear in so many ways, did not encourage wandering. Venture beyond the fence of the complex itself, and you stumble onto a very busy road. My new neighborhood, however, invites walks, strolls, strides, and many other forms of perambulation. In fact, the older parts of the city were actually designed to be pedestrian communities, so the architectural front of my house faces a sidewalk, not a drive-able street.

From my house (my house!) I can easily walk to several general stores, to the library, the park, to Baptist, Methodist, Episcopalian, and Catholic churches. I can walk to the homes of several friends. Today, I walked to a community yard sale. Here are some of the reasons I believe walking is so good for the soul:

* Walking changes my sense of time. I become eager for the hopeful twilight of morning hours, so I will rise early in order to walk. I expect walking to take time, much more time than a car, and so I set aside all hurrying instincts. If someone invites me to step inside for a few minutes, I am much more likely to say 'yes' if I have walked there.

* Walking encourages me to pray. Without the distractions of work or internet at hand, my mind settles into a rhythm of watchfulness. If I pray at home in the mornings, I nearly always fall asleep or find my mind wandering. With my body occupied by walking, my mind regains its simplicity, and if I notice something--a child's swing, a house needing repair, a church--my attention carries it into prayer as if it were part of my breathing. Prayer-walking is a spiritual discipline I have loved since my teens, and after so many years, walking nearly always feels like a form of listening, thanksgiving, confession, or intercession.

* Walking keeps me aware of and wise for my body. Too much sitting produces half-formed appetites and unwise cravings. Fresh air, light, and movement make me deeply and properly hungry for good food.

* Walking enriches both solitude and community. I never mind going for a walk by myself. Indeed, when living in community, walks often become my best recourse for much-needed solitude. At the same time, some of the best conversations I have had with friends have come while walking. Today, I walked to the yard sale, met my friend Grace and one of her daughters, and then walked back home with Grace to help her carry the fabric she had purchased. Had we been in cars, we would have bid one another farewell and parted ways, but instead we chatted about sewing plans, about the university, about the children, the students. Little Alathea sang us a song about polka dots.

* Walking teaches me to love a place. For my first two years in Texas, I walked to church nearly every Sunday. I meditated on those walks in one of my first blog entries (read it here), realizing that without them, I would not have come to love Waco nearly so deeply or so well. May the same be true for Alabama.

This week, I challenge you to walk somewhere you would normally drive--the grocery store, school, a friend's home. Come back and share what you notice! 

Setting out for a morning walk along Grant Street

Through the park.....

...and across the bridge.

Yard sale! 

Headed home from Grace's house. This is the "street" my house is on. 

I notice more when walking. 

Learning to love the way home. 

Life Undivided: Walking Home

What do these things have in common?

• a man sitting in the grass, playing his guitar and singing to a seven or eight children
• a sign reading “Warning: High Drug Trafficking Area. Do Not Loiter”
• fragments of all kinds: pieces of vinyl albums, newspapers, and once, a gun
• a pony
• magnolia, crepe myrtle, live oak, and pecan trees
• men and women gathering pecans into plastic grocery bags
• goats 

Answer: Each item appears on my “Seen While Walking to Church in Waco” list. 

During my first two years in Texas, I lived about a mile and a half from my church, and during those years, I only drove to Sunday worship four or five times. Every other Sunday, I walked.  While this record may seem quirky or counter-cultural, for me it was intuitive.  Growing up, my family lived barely three blocks from our church, and in college, I attended the church that was across the street from my dorm room.  I did not own a car until I moved to Texas for graduate school, and so while I could have driven to any number of churches, I first visited congregations within walking distance (I had several good choices; this is Texas, after all). My trek to Calvary Baptist was longer than either my childhood or college walks, but I came to treasure those Sunday mornings.  Though very thankful for a reliable car, I have never enjoyed driving, and Sunday became a day I could rest from the rush and worry of controlling an automobile (or automobeast, as I used to call them). 

My view of Colcord Avenue on a typical Sunday morning. The blue is the underside of my parasol--a necessity for walking on a summer day in Texas. 

I mention these walks, and the strange list they helped me compile, because as I continue to ruminate on what makes a place home, I have realized that home is a place I walk. For most of my life, it has also been a place from whence I walk to church. When I moved to my current apartment, I was much closer to campus, the river, the city park, and many other good things, but I could no longer continue my Sunday ambles (Rising at five am to walk across town doesn’t make me feel very reverent). Losing those walks, however, made me realize how important they were to making this city home.

The benefits of walking through the this city for so long makes that curious inventory precious to me. Week after week, I walked the same route: from Maple Avenue to Colcord, from Colcord through a little web of back streets that brought me to the church building. From a car, this route is hardly lovely: a few blocks of stately houses soon gives way to shabbier buildings, unkempt yards, overgrown lots, and at least one intersection with a bad reputation. There are few reasons to linger if you are simply passing from one side of town to another. 

By walking, however, I had the time to see and know this place.  The broken things I saw, whether weapons or windows, frightened me, but gave me prayers for my neighborhood. The trees and the people and the goats became familiar and beautiful.  Eventually, the women on their porches or the guys working on their cars would say hello, asking me, “You goin’ to church?”

I never did learn the story behind the pony. 

Walking used to be my primary mode of transportation--not only to church, but to school, the grocery store, or any other place I needed to be. In college, my church was on a hill, and I would let myself wander for miles in any direction, knowing I could find my way back once I caught sight of the steeple. Both in Indiana and Tennessee, I often walked to the places where I worked, studied, and shopped. While dating both my high school and college boyfriends, we spent most of our time together rambling through neighborhoods around our houses.  These walks always lasted for hours, and even now I somehow expect to see those bright boys whenever I return to one of those Indiana streets. 

But there is something particularly beautiful about walking from house to church, knowing that with every step I am treading both to and from home.  I used to joke that living alone took all the fun out of being an introvert, but my Sunday walks invariably restored the joy of solitude, blessing me with the tension between walking alone and worshipping together.

Perhaps I can put this all another way: home is a place I reach with weary feet, a place I rest and realize that my hair smells like a February wind. Home is a place I leave in order to arrive. Home is a place I am content in solitude and in community. Home is a place I know what is ugly and notice what is beautiful. 

Home is a place it takes a long time to reach, a place I can see and name long before I arrive.