Undaunted Joy #39
(Found this sign in Blackheath, Surrey, England. Population 220)
Some of my best dreams are just me, wandering.
There are two that are common to me. One I’ve had ever since I was little. It is about wandering a very large house. In the dream I come to a door and try it. Sometimes it is locked. But sometimes it opens and is a beautifully decorated library or kitchen or once, my friend Melissa’s bedroom but with jellybean dispensers displayed as a rainbow.
The other common dream is wandering old city streets. In 2018, my family and I stayed in Florence for two weeks. We rarely ventured to the south side of the Arno River and spent hours a day wandering the alleys of the city. Notoriously, I have absolutely no sense of direction. It wasn’t until the last two days, that I seemed to get a handle on the layout of the city. As a result, each corner was a new delight to me. Each turn I’d find something new; a devotion hutch to Mary built into the wall centuries ago, a statue, an architectural feature or my favorite, a new bit of graffiti from BLUB.
(Artist Blub places thin sheets of paper, like old broadsides, with these reproductions avec goggles, around Italian cities)
For some reason, it’s the streets of Florence that return in my dreams often. I remember my sons humming the same song over and over as we walked on that trip. We were all so happy.
This entire trip has been about wandering. Just walking around absolutely aimless for hours each afternoon. I have wandered the streets of London and found shops and plaques and doors and spots from past trips.
I have walked through the Surrey countryside, to small villages with populations less than 300 people. I have got so stuck in mud that my shoe stayed but my socked foot came out. I have slid on ice. But was BLISSFULLY happy in all of it. I saw a fox. I walked for 20 minutes with a nanny from Morocco pushing her two charges in a stroller while we talked. I climbed hills where I could see all of the countryside stretched before me.
I have processed so much on these walks. Praying constantly. Just talking to God. About my writing. About the world. About my shoe being covered in mud.
I cannot tell you what wonders it does to my body, mind and spirit to be able to do this. Wandering has been one of the gifts of this trip. It is in wandering that I discover---who I am becoming, my place in this world and who God truly is.
Walking used to be part of my writing process. I stopped for some reason. I don’t know why. Because I was cold or had already exercised in the morning…I need to return to the practice. It is a practice truly. It opens me to wonder in a way running on a treadmill never can.
A bit of administrative detail. I return home to Seattle this Thursday. I am so grateful for all who have followed this journey, prayed for my safety and rooted for my joy. A special thank you to the 8 new paid subscribers who joined this month. Each paid subscription goes straight to my student loan and I will be making a payment next week when I return.
For a year or so after the pandemic began, my wife and I would walk out of our zip code in Seattle and encounter porch-sitters, strangers, who were lonely enough to initiate conversations—they in their chairs, us on the sidewalk. One man told us his long and compelling theory about UFOs being God's eyes. My wife and I don't walk as far anymore. I wonder if this kind of accidental ceremony—this walk through fear and lonesomeness—will ever happen again. Ah, the congeniality of Covid.
It has been a gift to follow along with your wanderings. I so look forward to what God will unfold with your writing. Safe travels, friend. We should go for a walk when you get home.