It's A Walking Stick!

My joints have their good days and their bad days, so I’ve begun using a walking stick on my daily outings in Joseph Whidbey State Park. At first I tried using the walking stick that son Brandon had carved for himself during his college years, but its grip didn’t fit my hand and it was just a bit too tall for me. Then Pat reminded me that walking sticks were personal items. He said that I needed to find one that fit my size, needs and personality. That made sense to me, and I realized that I had several good candidates for a walking stick in our garage. I put them all through a trial run at the house and then tossed the winner into the back of my PT Cruiser.

The next evening Pat and I arrived at Joseph Whidbey State Park for our walk. I popped open the car, removed my walking stick with a flourish, and said, “Behold, my new personal walking stick!”
“That’s a mop handle,” he said.
“Not anymore! It is now a walking stick … and isn’t it a pretty bright shade of blue?”
“At least put a rubber tip on it,” he grumbled.
“Don’t need to—it already has a hard plastic tip!”
“Which is threaded—because THAT is a MOP handle!”
“It may have BEGUN life as a mop handle, it may still have the VESTIGES of its life as a mop handle, but that doesn’t matter. It is now my bright blue personal walking stick—although the yellow broom handle was also a strong contender.”

Pat’s reaction to my walking stick reminded me of how difficult it can be for some people to accept—or even allow—change in others. This was especially true in the small town where I grew up, in the small schools where I attended, and even in some of the small churches that I knew. Your family name, your family politics, your family church affiliation would open (or close) doors. The entire family would be “branded” with one identity. Those who had less desirable “brands” usually had to leave the area to overcome local biases … they literally had to escape their hometown in order to change!

I hope that we who have personally experienced God’s transforming power would NEVER be guilty of denying that same power to others … would we? We know that God’s transforming power is available for ALL who will accept it … don’t we? We would be the FIRST to embrace a grace-transformed individual in our family, our congregation or our community… wouldn’t we? Or would we?

In the meantime, if you happen to run into a grouchy “Santa” and his lovely companion on the trails at Joseph Whidbey State Park, be sure to look for her pretty blue walking stick.

Pastor Kit

Willie

Willie was a neighbor who lived directly across the street from us for most of the past two decades. He was about 10 years older than Pat and I, had a curmudgeonly demeanor, was of the opposite political persuasion, and would have sported a Darwin fish on his truck had he been given to outward displays of personal beliefs. That is, beyond the bumper crop of campaign signs that would proliferate in his yard in season.

And then there was his ongoing war with our cat. Much to Willie’s consternation, Squeak would visit his “naturalized” back yard to hunt birds and squirrels. But then she would redeem herself by killing rats. Willie wasn’t happy about losing the occasional bird, but he didn’t mind losing the rats. So an uneasy truce existed between the two.

There were only two things that Willie and I had in common. First, we were neighbors—you know, those folks that God commands us to love as we would love ourselves. And second, we both liked to work in our yards. And despite his curmudgeonly ways, Willie was friendly. Consequently I have almost 20 years of memories of visiting with Willie as we both tended our lawns, picked up the mail, put out the trash/ recycling, shoveled snow, and washed cars.

One morning Willie woke up with a headache that just would not go away. It turned out to be a cerebral hemorrhage. In a matter of hours he was on life support until his children could get home—and then he was gone.

Willie didn’t share my Christianity, but you wouldn’t have known that by the way he lived. He was a materialist; he just didn’t believe in life after death. But he did believe in living as responsibly as he could in this life. He was obviously beloved by his wife and children, and I couldn’t have asked for a better neighbor. He did the very simple things that Christians are commanded to do—but so often don’t. He didn’t have to be commanded to love his neighbor—it came naturally.

Willie’s death has left a hole in the fabric of my everyday life. It has also left me with questions… for which I have no easy answers. It has again made me realize that a life well lived impacts more people than we can ever know. How ironic that a self-professed non-believer would best show me how to “love thy neighbor.”

Thanks for the lesson, Willie—you taught it well.

Pastor Kit

“Shall not the Judge of the all the earth do what is just?”
(Abraham before the Lord, Genesis 18:25(b))