cracks in the sidewalk...

i've been rather negligent in my blog writing lately. while i promised myself i would dive back in full force in the year of 2011, i simply haven't.

there has been much to ponder lately. yet, i tend to mull over life's questions internally first or on the fresh pages of a journal before ever attempting to scrawl words across a public domain page.

as spring nears and the moon goes to bed a bit later than in the winter's chill, i have been enjoying evening walks around my neighborhood. the quietness begs for my attention after a long day of "rush, rush, rush."

since my fall and subsequently severe lower back injury nearly 3 years ago, exercise in its many forms has been difficult for me to sustain without dehabilitating results. this reality has been a blow to my spirit, particularly as i've watched toned muscle melt into a pool of curvy flesh. vanity perhaps, but my truth all the same.

walking, however, has been a refuge of sorts for me. while not a heart-pounding workout, it does allow my head and my heart to pause and truly acknowledge one another.

with one foot in front of the other, i wander the sidewalks of my neighborhood--sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. the pavement stretches out before me, with long, slender cracks drawing me further into their story.

shel silverstein once wrote about 'where the sidewalk ends.' but what about the cracks--the scars--of these sidewalks? how did the pressure of life's weight break down their gray canvas? did the sidewalk mourn that first scar? or it is in the crack, that life's earth can break through and grow up an orphaned dandelion or daisy?

we all know--in one way or another--the pain and anguish of brokenness. the feeling of that first scar slicing across our spirit. or perhaps the long-ago scar breaking open once more after a journey down a sidewalk we swore we'd never venture down again.

so why do we take the risk and walk it again? i don't know for sure. i can only imagine that we, like sidewalks, possess a story far more glorious because of our cracked spirits than from any pristine canvas we could long for.