Solving the World’s Problems on a Walk
And discovering we’re not walking alone
Walking
I’ve noticed something about myself over the years.
When I’m walking—on a treadmill, in the woods, or on neighborhood streets—I feel like I can solve the problems of the world.
Something about the rhythm clears my head. Things start to make more sense. Not everything gets solved, of course—but walking creates space for clarity to come.
When was the last time you were trying to make sense of something?
A conversation that didn’t land right. A decision that still feels uncertain. A loss you didn’t see coming. A change you didn’t ask for.
Those moments when life doesn’t line up the way you expected, and you find yourself turning it over—thinking it through, replaying it, trying to understand what it all means.
Most of us don’t stop moving in those moments. We keep going. We carry it with us. And if we’re honest, it often feels more like confusion than clarity.
We walk through it.
There’s a story in scripture about two people doing exactly that.
Emmaus
In Luke 24:13–35, two disciples are walking along the road to Emmaus. They are talking through everything that has just happened—the death of Jesus, the collapse of their hopes, the confusion of it all. They are trying to make sense of something that feels like it has fallen apart.
As they walk, someone joins them.
They don’t recognize him.
They simply keep talking. They tell their story. They name their disappointment. And the one walking with them listens. He meets them right where they are, without rushing them or correcting them too quickly.
Only later—at a table, in the ordinary act of breaking bread—do they finally see that the one who has been with them all along is Jesus.
And in that moment, they say, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was walking with us on the road?”
He was with them the whole time.
They just didn’t know it yet.
That’s what stays with me.
Not that they figured it out, but that they were not alone, even when they felt like they were.
Still True
And I wonder how often that is true for us.
Most of us can look back and see it, at least in glimpses.
A conversation that came at just the right time—when someone said exactly what you needed to hear, even if they didn’t realize it.
A moment of unexpected strength in the middle of something hard, when you somehow kept going when you didn’t think you could.
A door that opened after another one closed, even if you couldn’t see it while you were standing in disappointment.
A sense of peace that didn’t make logical sense, but held you steady anyway.
At the time, it just felt like life unfolding.
But later, you look back and think, “Oh… God was there.”
But what about now?
Invitation of Faith
What would it mean to trust that kind of presence before you can see it clearly?
Before things resolve. Before the meaning becomes obvious. Before you can tell the story with a sense of peace.
This is the quiet invitation of faith—not to wait until everything makes sense, but to trust that we are not walking alone in the meantime.
Because presence doesn’t depend on recognition.
God is with you in the middle of the conversation you’re still trying to understand. In a situation that hasn’t been resolved yet. In the ordinary moments that don’t feel especially meaningful at all.
So today, you don’t have to force clarity.
You don’t have to rush yourself to understanding.
You can simply keep walking, paying attention in small ways, staying open to what might be unfolding.
And trusting that even here—even now—you are not alone on the road.
(I’m still learning how true that is.)
A Blessing
May you trust a presence you cannot always see.
May you feel accompanied, even in uncertainty.
May your questions be held with gentleness.
And may you come to know, in time or in hindsight, that you were never walking alone.
Reflection Questions
Where in my life am I trying to make sense of something right now?
When have I only realized later that I wasn’t alone?
What would it look like to trust presence before understanding?
Where might I be overlooking something sacred in an ordinary moment?
Take your time with one of these. You don’t have to answer them all.
A Song to Carry With You
“Carry You” – Ruelle & Fleurie
A quiet, honest reminder that we are not left to navigate life on our own. Let it sit with you today.
I sent you an email with a tune that I wrote about this wonderful Bible story. I couldn't figure out how to post it in your Devotions. Love this story...