Hitting My Stride

Being awakened at 2 a.m. by a sick dog is never fun, never ever. And it's even less fun when said dog continues to be sick off and on for the remainder of the night and into the next day. Yep, my little wiener dog Ollie was one sick pup, and I spent a good part of the night and today trying to make sure he puked on the papers I put down on the bathroom floor rather than on the carpet or in my bed like he did last night ... yuck, yuck and a million times more yuck. Thankfully, after half a Pepcid pill and unflavored Pedialyte, he's been able to keep down a little cottage cheese and part of a scrambled egg for a couple of hours. Hopefully, he just had a touch of a stomach bug or ate something he shouldn't have while we were walking after dark last night and the worst is over.

When I was sure that Ollie was alright, I decided to go for a walk by myself ... I've had a bad case of the lonelies this weekend, perhaps because I spent Wednesday and Thursday evening with my oldest son and his family (they left yesterday morning to spend a few days in the town they lived in while they were in school; Matt was best man in his friend Jake's wedding). Missing my kiddos, caring for a sick hound dog and having something huge I need to do next weekend looming before me meant that if ever I needed to hit the trail, today was the day. I had only to take a few steps out of my garage before I knew that my walk along my beloved trail was going to be different. It was going to be different because I had decided not to take my iPod so that I could use the quiet of the trail to collect my thoughts. But it was really, really, really going to be different because Ollie wasn't with me to set my pace.

By the time I walked across the street and through the grass and stepped on to the trail, I was already struggling to find my stride. I tried slowing down, but that made me feel as though I was making no progress at all. I tried speeding up, but that made me feel as though I was trying too hard. I tried walking on the edge of the path, but that made me feel off-balance without Ollie trotting along on the other side of me. I tried putting my hands in the pockets of my basketball shorts, but that made me feel like I was leaning too far forward and was in danger of falling on my face. I tried walking in the middle of the trail, but that made me worry that a biker was going to come along and crash into me. For a half-hour, I struggled to find my spot ... my zone ... my place. I fought and warred with myself as I attempted to set my pace and hit my stride.

"This is ridiculous," I said out loud to the air around me. "I can't walk without Ollie ... I might as well quit and go home." No sooner had the words left my mouth than tears filled my eyes as the memory of another walk without a wiener dog by my side flooded my mind. I'll never forget that first walk alone after J.R. passed away ... I sobbed the entire time I was on the trail that day. It took me a long time to find my stride again, to find a way to walk without my little fat buddy ... a really long time. I had made a promise to J.R. the morning I held him in my arms as he slipped away ... I promised him that I would keep walking our trail, lonely though it would be without him ... I promised J.R. that I wouldn't quit walking. Now that I think about it, I don't think I was ever able to really and truly hit my stride as I walked the on trail again after J.R. died ... until Ollie came into my life and joined me on the journey.

As thoughts of J.R. and Ollie washed through my heart, I was struck by the enormity of the lesson contained within my solitary walk today. Struggling to find my pace on the trail was about so much more than walking along the path beneath my feet ... it was about struggling to find my pace in life, about hitting my stride as the woman God desires me to be. I've spent so many years walking too fast or too slow, wandering from the edge of the path to the middle, putting myself in harm's way over and over again ... hands shoved so deeply into my pockets I had no hope of catching myself when I fell. Whoa ... I just thought of something ... something big. If my hands are in my pockets, not only can I not grasp the hands of those who want to walk with me, I can't reach out to help other people either.

Set my pace, God," I whispered quietly. "Help me hit my stride, Lord ... help me to walk with You and hit my stride. Tomorrow and the next day and all the ones that follow ... set my pace, and help me hit my stride."