It was early on a Saturday morning. I was on my way to the park, hoping to find my way into some pickleball games, when I pulled up to a stoplight and immediately noticed her.
It was hard not to notice her on the curb along the right side of the street. She was wearing one of those orange safety vests, the kind construction workers wear, with reflective strips. She also held a long pole out in front of her, its tip resting on the ground.
Just after I stopped at the edge of the crosswalk, she stepped into it. Instruction from decades ago looped through my head: look both ways before you cross the street. But what happens when you can’t see the street, let alone the cars that may be barreling toward you from either direction?
I stared, drawn into the scene. I held my breath with concern. The pole tapped left, then right, then left again, and her feet followed it, step by step, all the way across the four lanes.
I said it out loud, in awe. “What courage she has! What faith!”
The tears came before I could stop them.
How does she do it, Lord?
How does she step off the curb without any hesitation, trusting she won’t fall, or worse?
Is that one guide pole really enough to keep her safe?
What if she gets hurt out here… how would she find the faith to get back up and keep going?
I watched her pole, then her feet, step back up onto the curb on the other side of the intersection, and I felt myself breathe with realization. Oh, we’re not really talking about her anymore, are we?
No, we’re not.