In high school, I wasn’t allowed to have a car. My parents were on a tight budget with no room for extras, so adding another vehicle to the mix wasn’t a possibility. I didn’t get my license until 16 and a half, and while I was on my parents’ insurance as a driver, I could drive their cars, only with explicit permission. I wasn’t allowed to work during the school year, so I couldn’t have paid for the car myself.

Basically, I only drove myself to church on Sundays (family did not attend my church) and occasionally to see friends.

But I didn’t care.

As a non-drinking, non-partying, non-smoking, non-sneaking out Christian virgin in a strict and chaotic household, the avenues to assert my independence as a teenager were few, but I made use of them: my fingernails were painted stupid bright colors (like construction crew orange) and I walked everywhere. My hometown had no taxis or bus system: if you didn’t have a car, you needed a bike or a good pair of shoes.

It was about a mile from my doorstep to my high school and I walked, rain or shine or blizzard. It took me a whole 15 minutes to get ready in the morning – which included a shower – so in the winter my hair would often freeze. I remember once for a play, I carried two paint full paint cans the entire mile for a set painting session after school, a decision I regretted a city block into the walk, but didn’t have time to turn back. The first day of my senior year was a downpour – I walked – and I was soaked from the knees down the entire day. That sucked. My mom would have gladly driven me, but I wanted to do something on my own, I hated being kept under their thumb. I have always had an independent streak something fierce.

Walking has always been a part of my life, more so than a vehicle, and I think it’s part of the reason my heart is always pulled towards Europe and its pedestrian friendly walkable cities. In America, especially in my neck of Suburbia, everything was built around the car. I used to walk to a grocery store at my old job during lunch – it was 800 yards away – and I routinely had other co-workers ask if I needed a ride! This would happen only in America.

If I were to take this new gig – a management position of all things – it is only 1.5 miles from my house. And if I cut through the neighborhoods, I can walk there in about 25 minutes on foot. I’ve already tested this hypothesis. “You wouldn’t actually walk to work, would you?” my skeptical husband said when I told him of my plan. I would walk on most days when the weather cooperates. I wouldn’t be as extreme as I was in high school – after all, I would be in leadership and sloshing around with wet shoes and socks doesn’t exude professionalism, so on cold or wet days I would drive.

I must admit, the thought of walking to work is certainly a perk. A whole hour of quiet solitude or podcasts or phone calls to friends and family. Us introverts dream about these things!

I’m still debating if I should take this job. Since working in a hardware store in high school, I’ve always managed to talk myself out of going for the promotion. I do great work as a grunt. I have leadership skills and training, I’ve only chosen to keep them on the shelf all these years because I believe there’s always someone better for the gig than myself. I’ve often defaulted to people with a degree lower than my own or even less experience because I figure they know better than me. My fear of being wrong and hurting a patient keeps me up at night.

I can’t figure out if it’s a confidence thing or if it’s really just who I am. My IQ levels out as average, yet I have 15+ years of experience in this field in multiple settings, both in large and micro enterprises.

I know the management team I would be under and they love me. I’m 99% sure if I go for this gig, I’ll get it.

Maybe this is the way to go? Even if it’s just for the mentorship. But am I ready? I’m nearly 40 but still feel 24.

In the meantime, more prayer. I’m going to reach out to a contact after this week to get more information. And I have a book about management for this particular field.

Walking the walk? I might.

I always thought a prophetic word would be spoken to me during a worship service or in broken English by an old French woman while I was touring Notre Dame. No, God usually shows up in the ordinary and this was no exception. My experienced happened around midnight in a Steak n Shake off the interstate in central Illinois. 

My friend Phoebe and I were catching up over cheese fries and steakburgers. It was a year of change for me; I was in the process of getting myself down the right path and contemplating leaving Illinois for good. It was still just a thought, I hadn’t made plans yet. 

We were talking about relationships – or in my case, lack thereof – and I said, “Oh, I don’t even know if I’ll get married.”

“You will,” she said with confidence.

“How do you know?” I asked, an eyebrow raised. Platitudes did nothing for me.

“I’ve seen it,” she said as she tapped her forehead. The third eye. Phoebe was a spiritual Catholic with a hint of charismatic charm. She had a knack for seeing the future, although her own future was often too clouded for her to see clearly. 

I shrugged and went back to eating my cheese fries.

“I know he’s older than you.”

I froze mid fry. That was certainly interesting. I had my heart set on someone who was a few years my senior. If he wanted a serious romantic relationship with me, I would have dropped everything and moved to his city – a place I also loved.

With my heart racing, I thought for a moment about heading out east, and then added, “He’s not in Illinois, is he?” I knew full well his truck had Illinois plates and chances of him leaving his homeland were slim to none. 

“He’s not in Illinois,” Phoebe said with a mouthful of fries.

While the air went out of my proverbial balloon around the restaurant, I knew she was right. It was another sign I needed to leave.

---

Fast forward a year from that very conversation. I was the new kid on the block in Wilmington, North Carolina. The cute guy I met on my job interview tour and I began dating. He was eleven years older than me. We were married a year and a half later.

---

I’m am not clairvoyant by any stretch of the imagination. I do not have the gift of prophecy. I cannot look at someone or a situation and tell you things about it. The feelings come to me. I’m always a receiver of this information, never a transmitter.

I’ve predicted twice a friend’s marriage would fail the first time I met their intended spouse. Both marriages collapsed due to the spouse placing C4 explosives at the foundation of the union and pressing the detonator button. Nonetheless, I am not infallible. I said the same about another friend, yet they’re still together and happy – although it’s been a tough road.

I told my sister she’d get pregnant right away and the baby would be healthy. And that happened.

Another friend once told me about her new professional venture and at once I felt this would open doors for her and it was a good thing to pursue, not knowing what specific good things would happen. The words flew out of my mouth before I had time to contemplate them and hoped I didn’t say anything I’d have to eat later. By the by, she met her future husband through this connection, an answer to many years of intense prayer.

And the thing is, I got that feeling again recently.

It descended upon me out of the blue after I was told something quite bland, and my reaction was, “Holy [expletive], [redacted] is going to happen.” And if this happens, it will be a very good thing, an Isaiah 54:2 moment, if you will. A part of me fears I’m completely off base and it’s just the sugar high from the Christmas cookies. I wrote it in my journal with a sketched out timeline (more my personal predictions than the feeling). I’ll confess it if it comes to pass. 

Until then, I’m wrapping it up in prayer, hoping with all my hope that my feeling is right on the money.

I can’t wait to tell Phoebe.

Christmas 2005 hit me like a ton of bricks. I would have to work overnight Christmas Eve to Christmas Day and I would be alone. There was no boyfriend and no prospects. All my friends had their own families. My own family was three hours away.

I tried to cheer myself up by saying this is how it’s going to be if I stick with this career path. People need healthcare on Christmas too. I’d gotten quite used to the lifestyle of being single and alone, so why would Christmas be any different?

Instead of wallowing in this reality, I ran in the other direction. I bought a tree at WalMart with all the fixings: garland, ornaments (the more unique, the better), and an angel to go on top. I slowly turned my one bedroom apartment into a winter wonderland.

It really helped ease the anxiety of being alone.

The icing on the cake came from my friend Deborah: her and her husband were spending their first Christmas as a married couple in Chicago with his family. On Christmas Eve afternoon, just as I was getting out of bed for my third shift job, she called to say she was bringing me dinner. “It’s nothing fancy, but we want to celebrate Christmas with you.” My heart nearly exploded with joy.

This couple drove 30 minutes in the opposite direction of their destination to make sure I had a merry Christmas. Fifteen years later, thinking about it still warms my heart.

Deborah and her husband showed up with a Hot ‘N Ready pizza and some dessert creation from Little Caesars and a two liter of Mountain Dew. For us recent college grads, this was living the high life. We sat on the floor of my living room, eating pizza, laughing, and talking. An hour later they left, a big drive ahead of them and I had to get ready for work.

And yet, this simple act of merely showing up, changed the whole trajectory of my Christmas.

I encourage you to reach out to singles, widowed – anyone who might be facing a Christmas alone or through pain. A simple act that says, “I see you” – even if it looks like a humble Little Caesars Pizza – can make all the difference in the world.

Merry Christmas, y’all. May y’all reflect the light that came into this world on that fateful Christmas Day two thousand years ago.