A: My Morning Walks Are Not Routine

Routine, a fixed action, is nothing special. It is the slow drone of the flat but necessary functions of life.

To the outside judge, my predawn rise probably looks routine.

I shut off my alarm, make my bed, and dress for the weather. Not yet fully awake, I grab my water bottle and lace my dusty yellow sneakers.

Six or seven minutes later, I walk down a well worn path to a trail lined with oaks and the occasional Foothill Pine.

I require no headphones and desire no human companion on these morning walks, although I do enjoy the kindness of those I encounter.

Seems rather ordinary I suppose, to the outsider. Boring even. It is the downfall of the judge, never living, never knowing the fullness of life is in the doing.

What looks dull and unremarkable is anything but.

While I desire no human interaction, I am not alone. He is with me. And we talk. A lot.

In this space I find gratitude, peace, and the ability to move into the stillness of the unknown.

Further down the path, my mind becomes quiet. I listen to the robins tweet and squirrels shout warnings to one another as I pass.

I practice being present, and in it I am able to enjoy the subtle yet constant change of the natural world around me:

The death and resurrection of wild flowers.

The constant preparation of the squirrels for winter.

And the daily change of the time and path of the sun.

No. There is nothing routine in this dedication. Wonder is present in the daily progression of the seasons, and each season offers a new joy.

My body also bares the fruit of my labor, my legs slimmer, my waist thinner, and my mind clearer. Most especially, my heart is full of His glory.

I walk early each morning because I expect in faith to be met by Jesus. His arrival is no less spectacular, even though it is expected.

No one encountering God can call it boring. And is never routine.