A Walk in the Park

Yesterday I bought a pair of sandals- the first real pair of sandals I have owned since tearing a tendon in my foot in 2007. It's so great to wear sandals again. They are the kind of sandals made for walking. I decided to break them in this evening, at a neighborhood park, after making a shamefully poor decision for dinner. (We tried the much-highly acclaimed new burger joint, "Five Guys Burgers & Fries"). It was deliciously disgusting- or disgustingly delicious-- not sure which. So anyway, after consuming what felt like enough meat and potato to FEED all five of those guys, I decided to take the kids AND my new sandals to the park and attempt to walk off at least the bun, maybe 1/2 the beef patty.

It was the PERFECT night for such a decision. The park was like a good dream. No mosquitoes, no pollen blowing around my head, no pain in my feet. The sun was starting to go down and it got "stuck" in its sunset position. Perfection! The evening was cool and I had my MP3 player. Aw yeah.

I couldn't help but notice what beautiful diversity was all around me. My fellow park-goers were all busy doing their things. It was a beautiful snapshot of melting pot America. I didn't just notice. I WATCHED, as I walked.

Many 20-something to 40-something year-old men played baseball in full uniform, as their families watched from the sidelines. I wondered how many of these men were aspiring pro-baseball players as young boys. Now as "family men", I wondered how many of them had worked all day prior to coming onto the field? And how many of them have a night shift awaiting them after the game? How many of them are out of work, facing the financial crises of their lives? Yet they were there, playing a high-energy, sweaty ball game, looking very fulfilled doing so.

My attention shifted to the soccer field, where many tweens and teens were facing off in a casual soccer match- with their pretty, tan moms looking on so proudly and chatting with crossed arms and warm smiles. A mother and two kids were walking a yellow labrador puppy, enjoying him immensely. He was the star of their show. I thought of how much joy our little Daisy has brought us since we got her last spring.

Not far off was a Hispanic man in his 40's, maybe early 50's, kicking a soccer ball around, running slowly after it. His attire, his ball, everything about him was in "el estilo puro mexicano". I missed the Rio Grande Valley for about 3 minutes. I appreciated the simplicity of his pleasure there on the field. I thought of times when I would watch boys playing soccer in Mexico. I imagined a Spanish conversation I might have with that man about the World Cup. I wondered where he was from.

Another Hispanic man was chasing two young kids through the grass, toward a large pile of woodchips. The woodchips were for the swingset area, but had not been spread out yet. When the kids reached the pile, they ran up on it and laughed and laughed. A nervous, giggling, nonstop kind of laughing. The man chasing them was laughing too, and very winded. Already at the woodchip pile stood an older woman with a strong, haggard look. She was looking after several young boys already playing on the woodchip pile, and a little girl with a physical disability, sitting in a wheelchair, sipping from a juice pouch. The woman pointed to her wrist and looked at me, asking the time without saying any words. 7:22. She nodded to say thank you, as though she was too tired to say it. I wanted to tell her to go sit down on the bench, to rest, because she looked tired, and I knew how she felt. But I kept walking...knowing that my not-so-little "Little Burger" would be haunting me forever if I didn't do something to make it go away.

On the path I was walking, another old woman was posing by a beautiful flowering tree, and a much younger Russian woman (perhaps a granddaughter?) was taking her picture with a cell phone. The old woman looked to be of Russian descent, wearing her babushka head scarf and her button-down coat and polyester skirt. Plainly not calling attention to herself, yet I couldn't stop watching her. She had the look of a content and kind woman who worked hard her whole life. I smiled at her and thought she looked stunning standing there under the white flowers and green leaves on a night like this. She smiled back at me. I wondered if that picture would be sent to some place deep in Eastern Europe, or treasured by the younger woman, after she was gone.

A boy about 11 years old was shooting hoops at the basketball court. His audience was a pudgy man who looked like he may have spent some time as a carnival worker- or perhaps as a long haul truckdriver-- and a much older man wearing sunglasses, lying on the grass next to a wheelchair, obviously his. Later I saw the boy walking beside the middle-aged man, who pushed the old man in the wheelchair. They were not saying anything, just walking.

At the playground were several moms and grandmoms pushing toddlers on swings, cuddling babies, giving lots of kisses, smiling, laughing, teaching. I wished I had a little baby again. Remembering so well the wonder of those times at the park when Hannah and Matthew were little like that. I watched Hannah and Matthew as they slid back and forth on a large metal bar overhang structure. They needed no help from me, but still looked over and waved or came over for a quick hug. Hannah walked with me for a few minutes and held my hand. Matthew was just glad to be getting a bit dirty and sweaty, jumping and running in his new tennis shoes (the kids got new shoes yesterday, too). Matthew and Hannah looked as beautiful as they did to me the day they were born. Maybe more.

As I began feeling like it was time to go, I saw a blind Asian man walking with a stick alongside two younger men who were speaking a language I will likely never understand a word of. I think they were Vietnamese. They were talking so fast. I listened in complete awe of their ability to communicate in such a way. The blind man seemed to be enjoying the air and the sounds of the other two men talking with him so energetically. I thanked God for my sight. I thought of my Dad and how he'll never again need help to walk a path. I imagined him walking with Jesus.

It was just about time to go. By now I had walked for about 40 minutes, several times around the big "track". I wondered how many of the people I had seen were watching me the way I watched them. They may have (correctly) assumed I was walking to lose weight, and I hope they thought I looked like a joyful person. Because inside, I was bubbling over. I sat down on a bench and took it all in. I thanked God for America and for His gifts. For this clean park and the security I felt there. For health. For love and for family~ these cross all cultures, and they unite us. For green grass and crabapple trees and flowers and puppies and babies. For bringing our family to Vancouver and for bringing us through so many trials since we have been here. God is so good; He's so good to me.

I strongly encourage a walk in the park if you haven't had one in awhile! ~Davida