The Walking Stick

He used to walk around the neighborhood when it was a nice day.
He was an older man, always dressed as a gentleman.
He was never sloppy, never too casual.
It was as if his walk was an important appointment that he must keep.

I would see him and wave.
If he was wearing a hat, he would tip it in my direction.
He would always return the wave with his free hand.
In the other hand, he carried a walking stick.

The way he walked and the way he carried himself exuded class.
It was not affluence but manners and gentlemanly propriety.
With his walking stick, he could easily have been walking in Trafalgar Square.
Seeing him always made me smile.

Five months after we moved into our house, it was Christmas.
I remember the day I went to the mailbox.
I expected to see cards, which were in the back of the mailbox.
Towards the front, I saw a box.

I brought the mail inside and opened the box first.
Inside were crisp, new 4″x 9″ envelopes.
All the envelopes were printed with our return address.
An entire box of envelopes was given to us as a gift.

There was a little note.
The gift was from the sweet man and his wife.
I pictured him with his hat and his walking stick.
I pictured him as he waved with his free hand.

I immediately called him, looking up his number in our neighborhood directory.
I want to thank you for your kind gift, I began.
Those envelopes will be put to good use, I said and I meant it.
You are very welcome, he responded, my wife and I just wanted to do something nice.

There was another Christmas that we received that same gift.
There was another year of waves, and hat tipping, and smiles.
And then it ended.
The sweet gentleman with the walking stick had died.

It was a busy time for our family.
It was the spring we had three graduations.
We had a college graduation, followed by a law school graduation the next day in another state.
We had a high school graduation two weeks later.

To celebrate, we went to Ireland as a family.
As one of my daughters teased: We are going to the Motherland.
She was not that far off since my husband’s ancestors are from northern Ireland.
There is still a homestead there with a thatched roof, that has withstood the test of time.

It was a wonderful way to celebrate the three milestones.
It was a wonderful way to be together.
It was a special time for our family.
We made memories there that we will never forget.

Everyone had an idea of the one thing they wanted to bring back home from Ireland.
I knew right away what I wanted to find.
I wanted to buy an Irish walking stick.
I wanted to bring home a real shillelagh cane.

I found one after searching quite a few places.
I was very excited about buying it.
My husband snapped a picture of me and my waking stick outside the store.
It went all over Ireland with me, mostly kept in hotel rooms as we traveled.

When it was time to leave to come home, all our purchases went into my suitcase.
Everyone else carried E-bags on their back.
I had the one large suitcase with wheels.
I could say it was just so we could bring things home but that was only half true.

I am not the best suitcase packer in the world.
I, like most women, bring more things than I actually need.
Despite the large suitcase, there was no place to put the walking stick.
I had not thought about that; I did not want to ship it home.

I walked all through the airport in Dublin with my walking stick.
Despite the fact that I am Irish, I felt even more Irish carrying that accessory.
We got to the first counter.
The man behind the counter looked at me and looked at the walking stick.

Is that your walking cane? He asked.
Yes, it is my walking stick, I said ready to show him the receipt of purchase.
It is your walking cane, he said again with a different inflection.
I was confused because he seemed to stress the word, cane.

He looked at me and said, You need that cane to walk through the airport.
Well, no, I just bought…but he interrupted me.
You need that cane to walk through the airport to your terminal, he said again.
This time he stressed the word, need.

I looked at him and smiled.
He looked at me and winked.
He stamped what needed to be stamped and moved us along.
Sheer grace.

Had he not done that, I would have had to ship my shillelagh cane home.
I thought afterwards how he trusted me.
I meant no harm with my walking stick.
I had no ulterior motive for carrying a shillelagh cane.

It was one of those moments that pass and then you realize later it was a gift.
I thought of our neighbor with his hat and his walking stick.
I walked through the airport rolling my suitcase with one hand.
I walked through the airport with my walking stick strategically in my other hand.

The walking stick clicked occasionally on the floor.
I was bringing a bit of Ireland home with me.
I was extended grace in a simple way.
When we got on the plane, my husband put the walking stick in the carrier above us.

It was nice to know my shillelagh cane was up there.
I had the perfect place to put my walking stick when we got home.
I thought of a man with a hat and a walking stick who smiled and tipped his hat.
I thought of a man behind a counter who handed me my walking stick and winked.

Moses answered, “What if they do not believe me or listen to me and say, ‘The Lord did not appear to you’?” Then the Lord said to him, “What is that in your hand?” “A staff,” he replied. The Lord said, “Throw it on the ground.” Moses threw it on the ground and it became a snake, and he ran from it. Then the Lord said to him, “Reach out your hand and take it by the tail.” So Moses reached out and took hold of the snake and it turned back into a staff in his hand. “This,” said the Lord, “is so that they may believe that the Lord, the God of their fathers—the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob—has appeared to you.” (Exodus 4:1-5)

Moses’ staff, his walking stick, was a simple object that God used as a sign.
It was a sign so the people knew that God had chosen Moses for a particular purpose.
With his walking stick, Moses struck the Nile and turned the water to blood.
With his walking stick, Moses struck the rock and water poured out for the thirsty people.

With his walking stick, Moses parted the Red Sea.
The Israelites were able to cross on dry ground.
One simple walking stick was used by God for His glory.
One glance at my walking stick and I have much to ponder.