The Morning Walk

“Did you see the sunrise today?”

“Not really. I was half asleep.”

“It was golden. Made me think we should get out earlier.”

“Earlier than six? You’re crazy.”

“I like the quiet. No cars, no noise. Just the street and us.”

“Us?”

“You. Me. The dog counts too.”

“The dog barely counts.”

“Don’t be mean. He’s enthusiastic.”

“He eats more than he walks, though.”

“True. But he loves it. That counts.”

“I guess. Do you ever feel like life’s just… routines?”

“All the time. Work, coffee, walk, sleep, repeat.”

“And nothing changes.”

“Except us. We change, whether we notice or not.”

“Sometimes I feel like we’re moving and standing still at the same time.”

“That’s poetic. Should I write it down?”

“No, it’s depressing.”

“Depends on how you look at it.”

“Do you ever think about what it’s all for?”

“Sometimes. Mostly I try not to.”

“Try not to?”

“Yeah. It’s exhausting. Trying to figure out the point of everything.”

“But there must be one.”

“Maybe. Or maybe we’re just supposed to… be.”

“Be? That sounds vague.”

“Comfortably vague.”

“Comfort doesn’t feel like enough.”

“No. But it’s something.”

“Do you ever get scared?”

“All the time. That’s why I hold your hand.”

“You hold my hand out of fear?”

“Mostly fear of being alone.”

“I think about that too. What if tomorrow doesn’t feel like today?”

“Then we walk anyway. Sun or no sun.”

“You’re optimistic.”

“Practical. Optimistic is too fancy a word for me.”

“I like it anyway.”

“Thanks. You like my practicalness?”

“Sometimes. Mostly your ridiculous optimism about mornings.”

“Not mornings. Life. Life needs a little ridiculous optimism.”

“And faith?”

“Faith is different.”

“How?”

“Faith doesn’t depend on sunrises or dogs. Faith… is steady.”

“That sounds impossible.”

“Not if it’s real.”

“Real?”

“Yes. Real faith. You can’t force it. You either have it or you don’t.”

“I don’t think I do.”

“You do. Maybe you just don’t know it yet.”

“Couldn’t we just skip the spiritual talk today?”

“Maybe. Or maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because life’s too short not to wonder.”

“I wonder if I’ll ever get it right. Everything.”

“You never do. That’s the point.”

“What’s the point then?”

“To keep going. To keep trying. To keep noticing the little things.”

“The little things?”

“The dog chasing the wind. Sun on your face. Hands held in silence.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s everything.”

“Everything feels so heavy sometimes.”

“Then hand it over.”

“What?”

“The weight. Don’t carry it alone.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You already do. You just forget.”

“Forget what?”

“Someone bigger than all of this is here. Watching. Guiding.”

“Watching us walk down empty streets at six a.m.?”

“Yes. Watching. Listening. Loving.”

“Someone like…?”

“Someone like Jesus. The one who walked before us, who knew the weight, who carried it for us first.”

“Jesus?”

“Yes. That’s why mornings can feel golden even when we’re tired, and why silence can teach more than words.”

“So… we’re not just walking the streets?”

“No. We’re walking with Him. Every step, every breath, every little thing.”

“And I didn’t even notice?”

“You did. You just needed the quiet to see it.”

“Quiet is good.”

“Better with someone beside you.”

“And He’s beside us?”

“Always. Even when the streets are empty.”

“Then maybe routines aren’t so meaningless.”

“Not when He’s part of them.”

“Even the dog?”

“Especially the dog.”

“Alright… lead the way.”

“Let’s go. Golden sunrise or not, we’re never alone.”

“Never alone…”

“Never.”