There is a man I see walking regularly near my kids’ school.
Almost every morning around drop-off time, I see him taking the same walk. At first, he looked like anyone else out for a morning walk. But eventually I noticed the stick he carries.
It isn’t a hiking stick.
It’s a white cane, moving in front of him, helping him navigate what he cannot see.
He is blind.
I remember being surprised when I first realized this. But what I felt even more was admiration. I had seen him almost trip once, yet morning after morning, there he was again—walking.
One particular morning, seeing him affected me differently.
It had been a stressful morning getting all three boys ready and to different schools. My husband and I had bickered a little before we split up for drop-offs.
Nothing huge.
But my body was carrying it.
After dropping off my older two, I could still feel the tension inside me. As usual, I turned on my devotional app and started driving toward work.
And there he was again.
Walking.
Something shifted.
I felt the tension that had been sitting in my stomach move into my chest, then my throat, and finally into my eyes.
I teared up.
Not really from sadness. It felt more like a mixture of conviction and gratitude.
Here was this man, walking the same route day after day without being able to see what was ahead of him. I wondered for a moment what his mornings might be like. What challenges might be part of his everyday life that I know nothing about?
And suddenly, the conflict from earlier felt different.
Not meaningless. Not something I needed to dismiss.
Just… smaller.
My body softened.
I was ready to text my husband and apologize for my part. I also decided I would apologize in front of our boys later—not because disagreement is terrible, but because I want them to see that repair is part of relationships too.
When We Hold On Too Tightly
That morning reminded me how easy it is for all of us, when we feel hurt or wronged, to become completely focused on what happened.
We can hold onto it really tightly.
And when we do, the tension can stay in our bodies much longer. The conflict stays alive inside us, ready to attach itself to the next comment, the next frustration, the next little thing.
Sometimes what changes that cycle isn’t solving the original problem immediately.
Sometimes it’s something surprisingly small.
A person walking down the street.
A line from a devotional.
A song.
A conversation.
The light coming through the trees.
A moment that reminds us that the world is bigger than the thing we are holding onto right now.
For me, these moments are often some of the quiet ways God speaks.
Not necessarily by making the problem disappear, but by gently shifting my attention enough that I can see it differently.
And sometimes that little bit of space is all we need to soften, to regulate, to take responsibility for our own part, and to move toward repair.
So I am reminding myself:
Stay open.
Especially when things feel hard.
Stay open to what you might see, hear, touch, smell, notice, or unexpectedly encounter.
You never know what small thing might create just enough room inside you to see differently—and choose what you want to do next.
