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I set out on the walking path as usual this morning. At the end of the path there is a large commercial property. Most days I pick up a few extra miles by circling the lot twice before reversing for home. Lately, I have encountered a maintenance worker there on my first pass around the lot. The maintenance worker is an older gentleman. His build is so slight that his baseball cap alone seems to overwhelm his small frame. He pushes a cart full of brooms and shovels, sprays and rags while pulling a vacuum cleaner behind him. This busy man is not much taller than the cart he maneuvers around this giant property. Most days I greet him with a smile and a simple hello. Some days I compliment him on the way he keeps the property looking so lovely. This morning as I came around a bend in the sidewalk I saw the maintenance worker taking a break at a picnic table inside a small pavilion. He turned to me and said, “There’s my little lady.” I laughed and said, “I think God intended for us to meet. I’m Lilli.” Smiling broadly, he extended his hand to me, “Jesse.” The encounter was pleasant and brief, but as I walked on I could not ignore the strength that came from his hand. Had we stood side-by-side, no one would have doubted that I was the sturdier one of this pair, and yet the strength there in his hand… And that feeling of strength remained upon my palm and at the base of my thumb for much of the day. Ironically, the right hand I offered to Jesse is a hand weakened from radiation following breast cancer treatment. It started with a fibrosis in my shoulder and the nerve pain inched its way down my arm into my hand. I first noticed the pain and the weakness as I struggled to lift a small pot of boiling water from the stove. But here, after this brief encounter, I felt a renewed if not unusual strength in my right hand. I know that it has become cliché to say that people and things are not always what they seem or that looks can be deceiving, but the strength in Jesse’s hand was a needed reminder for me. We make big judgments about people based on a glance, but most people have unseen strengths earned through hardship, work, and even the ordinary demands of daily living. I study my weakened hand and feel Jesse’s strength upon it, a strength that was given freely and generously in response to nothing more than a smile and a kind word or two, and I wonder: can it really be that easy? Share your strength with someone today.
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Each morning I thank God for the shared-use bike path outside my door. It keeps me sane and literally on the straight and narrow path during these difficult times. Despite its location along a four-lane, high-access highway, it is not deprived of nature. The city has planted a line of trees that form a barrier between the highway and some of the commercial buildings. Many of the businesses maintain small gardens and pots of flowers at their doors. Every establishment is surrounded by well-manicured lawns from which the dandelions cheer me on as they rise up in the lawn mower’s wake. The rabbits, squirrels, groundhogs, and birds long ago found peace in being city-dwellers living along this well-traveled path. My favorites among nature’s local inhabitants are the long lines of sassy geese that bring rush hour traffic to a screeching halt. I laugh out loud as they take their goosy time high-stepping across all four lanes. Yesterday, as I circled the large empty parking lot at the end of the path, empty save for me and a lawn care worker with a noisy leaf blower that is, a hawk swooped down and startled both of us. As the hawk drifted in for a landing, it spread its wings wide showing off its soft feathers of white and tan—a beautiful chalk portrait against a pale blue sky. The large bird came to rest on a rail of the railroad tracks within feet of me and the noisy leaf blower. The hawk looked regal as it perched there. Its appearance was so surprising and beautiful that the lawn care worker turned off his leaf blower, and we both stood there looking at the hawk who was sizing us up. The hawk didn’t seem to be in any hurry as he kept us pinned to the spot with its eyes. Traffic zoomed by behind us and yet, there we stood the three of us. It was the lawn care worker who finally broke the gaze. He didn’t seem able to get back to work with the hawk staring at him, and so he shooed the hawk away and fired up the leaf blower. I marched forward returning to the worn bike path, but the hawk remained with me as my mind’s fresh companion. I wanted to hold on to its beauty, the softness of its feathers, the wonder of its flight, the hope that it stirred in me even as I wondered: what did the hawk see when it looked at me? At the leaf-blowing lawn care worker? What does nature make of man? Did the hawk see beauty too? Was it curious about our lives and where we came from, what we were up to? Where we were going? Did it admire me moving on two feet as much as I admired it moving on wings? Like people, some creatures in nature are timid. They scatter and crawl back into their holes at the sight, sound, or smell of strangers or unexpected sounds. Some prepare to attack. But others, like the regal hawk and the sassy geese, will not be shaken or deterred. They claim their spaces even in the face of leaf blowing machines. They own the road even in the face of speeding two ton vehicles. They do what they do as nature prescribed, strong in their conviction that the rights of nature are ensured. Perhaps that is what there is to admire in God’s creatures, in addition to their beauty. They do not live constricted by worry or self-doubt. They have faith in their instincts. They don’t curse when the shelves are empty. They move on with a simple faith in provision. They don’t calculate every move, anticipate every potential problem; they simply live. A few miles later, I returned home with the hawk’s sudden appearance still on my mind. Alone, I engaged AI with my questions. AI told me that hawks are associated with vision, power, and freedom. They have exceptional eyesight that represents clarity, perspective, and an ability to see the bigger picture. They embody strength and dominance in the animal kingdom symbolizing courage and assertiveness, and freedom to pursue goals without constraints. In many cultures hawks are seen as messengers of spiritual awakening encouraging individuals to trust their instincts and intuition. In different cultures the hawk is a symbol of protection, guidance, power, and freedom. I had no reason to doubt AI. It merely confirmed what I had already felt as the hawk swooped down and settled on the railroad tracks to hold me in its gaze. Perhaps it was no coincidence. The wonder of nature may be that the hawk, with its heavenly instincts, came looking for me.  Following my usual route along a nondescript section of urban bike trail, I spot something new! A row of tall banners blows in the breeze and forms a lively parade along the guardrail. I look for the cause of such celebration. Beyond the guardrail and down a small slope on the far side of an enormous parking lot, a new establishment is open for business. One of the signs unfurls on an east-to-west wind, and I see the words, “Dry Needling” displayed on a banner that looks like a boat sail. I repeat the words to myself as I move along the path: Dry needling? What can that be? I scour my mental glossary and come up with an ancient parental rebuke, “Quit needling your sister!” The tone made it clear that continued needling came with consequences. And needle each other in public? A girl better be prepared to grow her hair out like Rapunzel if she ever wanted to leave her room again. These needling memories increase my curiosity, and I imagine a business built on a model developed by kids in junior high school. If only I had known then that I could build a profitable empire on those sarcastic, uninspired, and mean years! Making my way home with the words dry needling still jabbing my brain, I look up the word needling and find that it is “a teasing or gibing remark.” But then I have to dig into the word gibing – “to make someone the object of unkind laughter, deride, jeer, laugh at, mock, ridicule, skewer, scoff, or make fun of.” Yep, my parents knew what they were talking about. I dig deeper. What can dry needling be? My parents were not that explicit. Perhaps they assumed that at age 12 there was no alcohol involved in these exchanges of psychic puncture wounds. Therefore, I assume that despite the fanfare, this new establishment along the bike path is not a bar. I guess people of any age can needle while sober. I walk the short distance home and think of how long it has been since my parents scolded us for needling. If only they had lived a little longer, they would have seen that those junior high skills and the art of needling can have a big pay-off. Today, we call it Twitter.  I push myself out the door for a morning walk. The sky is dark and dreary. The air is moist, and it is cold. Gusts of wind sting my eyes. Within a few yards of my home, my fingertips begin to tingle inside my gloves, I walk along an urban bike path past clusters of office buildings. Tucked between the newer constructions and further back from the bike path, there is a small, nondescript structure that is home to a substance abuse treatment center. As I proceed along the path, I pass a young man walking with his head down, pressing into the wind. On this cold, wet day he wears worn jeans and a sweatshirt. He has no coat, no gloves, no hat. He walks with purpose. He does not look up or speak when we pass. On my return, I again walk by the treatment center. A woman who appears to be of middle age is coming from the parking lot toward the bike path. She is dressed in leggings and a hooded sweatshirt. The hood is drawn up tight around her face. She passes by me, her expression is blank. I wonder how far she has to go. I think about how cold she must be. I wonder if the young man I passed earlier made it safely to his destination, if he will suffer consequences of being unprotected in the cold. I wonder more about where they each are headed on this path we share, and I wonder about their lives before substances tricked them into giving up all reason and judgment, before they were robbed of health and happiness. Passing this clinic today, I realize that I have been lucky. All of us are just one drink, one pill, one snort, one naïve and reckless day away from walking a different path. I walk for enjoyment. They walk to save their lives. For all those traveling the same path, may the road rise up to meet you, and may the wind be always at your back. |
AuthorLilli-ann Buffin Archives
November 2025
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