The Walk That Helps Me Wait

The Walk That Helps Me Wait

It’s still dark outside when I lace up my shoes. The streets are quiet. The stars are still clocked in. And there I see him—my accountability partner—showing up with a simple nod that says, “I’m here.”

We don’t always plan these walks. They just happen—Spirit-led, heart-heavy, but anchored in something deeper than discipline. These mornings aren’t about cardio. They’re about calling. About staying close to the One who sees everything.

Today we walked and talked about waiting. Not lazy waiting—the kind that wastes away on the couch—but active, soul-ready waiting. The kind of waiting that feels like sitting in a bullpen, glove on, heart pounding, not knowing when you’ll be called, but being ready just in case.

We swapped stories. Dreams. Pain. Prayers.

I opened up about my grief—not just grief over a profession, but over a calling that I gave everything to. I shared how sometimes it feels like the life I once lived wasn’t even real. Like I’ve woken up from a matrix, only to see the world through new eyes. Eyes that still sting, but see more clearly.

He shared a dream—literally—about closing a game at 42. I smiled. Because that’s what this is. We’re both closers. And the game isn’t over yet.

We ended our walk in prayer, side by side, our voices rising before the sun. We prayed for strength. For guidance. For peace while waiting. For clarity in the unknown. For a light on our faces that lets the world know: God lives here.

I walked back different.

Still waiting.

Still trusting.

Still ready.