I take my morning walks by the same route every time: around the circle, past the judge's house, up the big hill, by the funny mailbox, through the woodsy cove where the deer like to hide, up the small hill, to where the road dead-ends. Then I return by the same way, except this time jogging, this time adding mileage by turning into the three side road cul-de-sacs. I walk for 15 or 20 minutes, jog for 10, then walk the final 5 or so. 

I still take my folded up Bible verse or poetry papers along to work on memory work, and I try to use at least a little of the time to pray about the new day.  

Many mornings, my path crosses with Mr. Bob and his bulldog Bucky. At first we were strangers saying a brief “Good morning.” But by staying to this route for a length of time, Mr. Bob has become part of my world. I’ve heard about his late wife Sally and how he misses her. He has four children, many grandchildren, and as of this past week, thirteen great-grandchildren. Just yesterday, he told me he would visit the new baby in the hospital later that afternoon.

I’ve heard how Mr. Bob traveled for work, lived in Cleveland and Pittsburgh, and has memorized Scripture for over forty years. He told me he’s writing a book, his life story, and I told him about my blog.

Because we share the same road, we make welcome in our worlds for each other. Even though Mr. Bob is almost twice my age, we have something on offer for one another. We can listen. We can care. We can wish each other well at the start of the new day upon us. In this way, a simple walk becomes a world.