This happened over thirty years ago, but it has stuck with me. One winter morning when I left my apartment to walk to the bus stop, I was surprised to see a line-up of idling cars on my normally quiet side street. Up at the intersection, I saw the reason for the unexpected traffic jam: there was a man trying to cross the street, and he was stuck. There was a ridge of snow, maybe six inches high, in the middle of the road and he couldn’t step over it. He would lift his foot, and then put it down again, but that little snow bank had him stymied. I’m not sure what neurological condition he was afflicted with, but it was clear from his stooped posture and shaky movements that something wasn’t right. He was stuck, and his awareness of the growing line of impatient drivers behind him wasn’t helping his efforts to step over that little barrier.

While I continued to walk toward the intersection, I witnessed a little miracle. A young man approached the disabled man and took him by the arm. That little bit of support - moral and physical - was all that he needed. He stepped right over the snow bank and made it to the far sidewalk, and then the young man went on his way. But the little drama wasn’t over yet. He was moving now, but moving very slowly. The bus stop was no more than thirty feet away, but the bus was approaching quickly. The man certainly wasn’t going to cover the thirty feet in time to catch it. 

Another young man, inspired by the example he had just witnessed, ran to the disabled man, asked him a question, and then hurried back to the bus. He dumped his gym bag authoritatively on the floor of the bus, said to the driver, “Wait just a minute, this gentleman wants to get on the bus,” ran back, and gave the slower man his arm. It was impressive how much more quickly the man could walk when somebody was walking beside him. They climbed on the bus together, and we proceeded downtown. It warmed my heart on that cold winter day to see two strangers reach out in such a simple way to provide help for someone with very complex needs.

It occurred to me that, in one way or another, we are all like that disabled man. There are times in every life when we carry heavy burdens; we are weak and infirm; we come across barriers too high for our weary steps. The path we walk can seem difficult, even insurmountable and yet we must take each step for ourselves. No one can walk the road for us. But they can walk beside us, and what a difference that makes! 

More people than I can count have walked with me, literally and figuratively, through the hardest times in my life. They have hugged me, clasped my hand, brought meals for my family, listened without judgement, and several of them have actually gone for walks with me. I will mention just one. Laura Mark had been my visiting teacher (monthly church visitor) for seven years before I went through my miscarriage journey. She was a neighbor, an all-around good person, and she quickly became a close friend. When I lost Loila, I realized that God had put her in my life for a very specific reason, because Laura had experienced the loss, through stillbirth, of her first son. Her empathy was a powerful force in my healing through those difficult years. And yes, she walked with me, every week, for months and months. Walking, even on your own, is good psychotherapy: the exercise, the repetitive motion, the sights and sounds of the outdoors, all help to calm and soothe a bruised spirit. Walking with a friend sensitive enough to match your mood - to talk about everyday things, or nothing at all, or to listen while you pour out your heart - well, that’s as good as it gets.