The Blessing of a Slow Walk

Updated: Jan 9

The Day a Two-Year-Old Preached My Best Sermon

I thought I was taking my grandson for a walk.

Turns out he was taking me to church.

It was twenty years ago, but I remember it like yesterday.

I took Charlie—my two-year-old grandson at the time—around the block. I wanted exercise. He wanted wonder.

Ten steps out the driveway he stopped dead. Pointed at a rock.

"Wook, Pappy! Wock!"

Then a leaf. Then an ant carrying a crumb bigger than his head.

Forty-five minutes later we had traveled roughly thirty feet.

I was impatient. Charlie was in paradise.

And somewhere in the middle of all that holy distraction, the Holy Spirit whispered, "Dick, which one of you is actually walking with Me today?"

We treat life like an item on a to-do list:

Meanwhile God is crouched down next to the dandelion saying, "Look. I made this for you."

Be still and know that I am God.

Not "be productive." Not "be impressive."

Be still.

That day with little Charlie changed something in me that has lasted all these years.

I started a new habit back then: one fifteen-minute walk a day with no phone, no podcast, no purpose except to move at the speed of gratitude.

No headphones. No hurry. Just me, Jesus, and whatever He wants to point out.

Some days it's a sunset that looks hand-painted.

Some days it's a stranger's smile.

Some days it's just the rhythm of my own breath reminding me, "I'm still here."

Every single time, peace sneaks up behind me and taps me on the shoulder.

The emails will wait. The dishes will wait.

Even the urgent feels a lot less urgent when you've spent ten minutes watching a squirrel bury a nut like it's the hope of the entire winter.

God is never in a hurry. He took six days to make the universe and then rested on the seventh just to enjoy it.

Maybe today He's inviting you to the same.