To Turkey Trot or Not

by Donna Poole

We get out of the truck, zip our hoodies tighter around our necks, and walk hand-in-hand through the field.

“Aren’t they cute?” someone says. “That old and still holding hands!”

We smile and keep walking. Yes, we still adore each other, but that’s not why we’re holding hands. We’re trying to keep from falling.

“Where’s the finish line?” we ask the first person who looks like he might know.

Reece, our grandson, placed second in this year’s community turkey trot race, and we missed it. We seem to be running for the worst grandparents of the year award, and we’re near the front!

Reece is only twelve. “I beat highschoolers, Grandma!” He grinned. “I even beat my athletic director.”

“Of course you beat him,” Reece’s mom said. “He has a bad knee.”

I ruffled Reece’s curls. I’m rather partial to them and to him. “Hey! You still beat him! Take what you can get!”

Reece’s sister, Megan, runs for Hillsdale College. I’m more than a little partial to her too.

I don’t often get to see my grandkids run, but every time I see their long legs flying around a track or through a field, I say to John, tongue-in-cheek, “They run that fast because of all the practice they got running away from their dad. And their dad was a good runner because of all the practice he got running from you!”

“Can I tell you a story?” Reece, our runner-grandson, asked in Sunday school this past Sunday.

“Is it a Bible story? Does it have any spiritual significance whatsoever?”

Looking disappointed, he sighed and shook his head.

“Tell you what. You tell me any story you want. I’ll make a spiritual application.”

“Really? Well, after I finished the turkey trot, lots of people were still running. I took my snowboard to the hill near the race. People were watching me. I was doing good; then all of a sudden I started. . . . .” He made a rolling motion with his hands.

“Head-over-heels? Not the impression you’d hoped to make?”

We both laughed. “Well, life is going to send you tumbling down many hills you didn’t choose, and sometimes people will be watching.”

We talked about how Reece didn’t get angry, put his snowboard away forever, or hide in his room. He picked himself up and laughed. We discussed the possible stroke or seizure I’d had a few days prior that today’s MRI will hopefully confirm or deny.

We can’t always choose our hills, roads, or tumbles, but we can get up, give God the pieces we have left, and keep going.

That kid snowboarded again Sunday afternoon.

Me? I just finished my MRI. The tech told me he did a special test for memory issues. That’s a good thing, because I walk Muddled Memory Lane often now, and I know many of you walk it with me.

Because of physical limitations, some of us may never again run a turkey trot or snowboard down a hill. I know some of you would love to just be able to get out of a wheelchair and meander a back country road. But there’s something we can do. We can help each other stand. We can keep walking each other Home. And we can cheer on those reaching the finish line.