I don’t usually walk on Sundays. When our schedule allows, Sundays are quiet, still days. After a full week, a slower-paced day feels sacred. This past Sunday as I left church—Jerry was serving on the worship team—I was looking forward to making myself a cup of coffee and curling up to read. But as I drove through downtown Bloomington toward home, I felt a nudge to go outside.
It was a balmy 25 degrees (!) that morning, but it was sunny, and the ice covering the trail had finally melted. There was no reason not to walk—and honestly, the prompting felt insistent. So I listened. I changed into warm clothes, texted Jerry to let him know I was heading out, and started walking.
I was eager to get to the trail near the big lake—I hadn’t been able to walk there for ten days or so due to the ice. So I looped around the park in our neighborhood, followed the trail east for a bit, and then ducked onto the lake trail.
I wrote about one of the first times I experienced one of these holy nudges here—how I sat in church two days after our marriage fell apart, heartbroken, yet somehow knowing my next step was to fight for our marriage with everything I had. That was my first inkling that such a nudge could be divine in origin and also intensely personal.
I exhaled as I began to walk around the big lake. It’s been really cold here, and I’m always enthralled by the patterns on the ice. As I rounded the corner, I heard people laughing and talking. That’s a bit unusual at this time of year—I’m typically one of only people who enjoys braving the cold! And then I saw it: a bunch of people bundled up against the weather, having fun on the frozen lake. A little girl, slipping and sliding in her bright pink boots, laughing as she held out her hand to her brother. A dad, teaching his kids how to ice fish. A teenager, his black skates carving slow tracks across the hockey rink he had carefully measured out along the shoreline.
Neighbors bearing witness to winter—such a simple, ordinary thing. But the Lord knew this sight would delight me—a born-and-raised New Englander who loves winter.
Over the years, I’ve learned to pay particular attention to nudges that pop up when I least expect them, especially those that prompt me to shift my routine or reconsider a decision.
The nudge to walk, on a rest day—making the most of winter.
The nudge to stay, when my instincts shouted leave—making the most of a fractured marriage.
Sometimes these nudges feel like real-life grace notes—sweet little flourishes bringing unexpected delight to an ordinary day. And sometimes, following one of these promptings introduces the notes of an entirely new song.