<a href="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/71458103_fef4cd560b.jpg"><img class="alignnone size-full wp-image-344" title="71458103_fef4cd560b" src="http://www.halfwaytonormal.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/05/71458103_fef4cd560b.jpg" alt="" width="500" height="375" /></a>
<h5 style="padding-left: 360px;">Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/london/">John Rawlinson</a></h5>
<strong>"We walk because they walk."</strong>

That's the slogan for  the <a href="http://www.churchworldservice.org/site/PageServer?pagename=crop_main">CROP walk,</a> <span class="status-body"><span class="entry-content">an ecumenical fund- and awareness-raising walk focused on fighting global hunger and poverty. The idea is that people all over the world have to walk great distances every day, in every kind of weather, to get the most basic life requirements, like water and food. The six-mile CROP walk trek gives you a good sense of the distance many walk daily. It's a simple, yet powerful symbol.
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Yesterday Jason and I took the girls and the pup on our local CROP walk, along with a group of people from our church and a few hundred others in the community.

Both Jason and I participated in CROP walks as kids, with our parents, so we were looking forward to continuing the tradition as a family. As we walked, though, I began to see walking as a global tradition, and began to think more broadly about the role walking has played in my life.
<h4>Walking to bond with others</h4>
<strong>I've always felt that walking is a powerful intellectual, spiritual and communal experience.</strong> Well, I shouldn't say <em>always</em>. Between the ages of five and ten I'm pretty sure I thought walking was a form of parental torture—particularly when we were on family camping trips in various National Parks, walking for miles through the heat with only occasional sips of tepid water that tasted like plastic to refresh us.

But by the time I was in middle school, I think I started to enjoy it. (My parents might have a different memory, though.) By the time I was in high school, it really clicked for me: <strong>Walking provides a new context and fresh perspective for thinking and talking to others.</strong>

During my teen years, I'm pretty sure all of my best conversations with my mom happened when we were taking the dog for an evening walk. It's not that we talked about big, weighty issues. Somehow I just felt like I could talk freely while we walked. <strong>It's almost as if walking does for our minds what it does for our muscles and joints—it stretches and loosens all the thoughts and emotions that get lodged in us when we're intently focused on making it through a day of school or work.</strong>

Walking together is a way to fully be with someone, without the pressure of sitting down and looking them in the eye. (Not that that isn't important at times, too.) T<strong>here's something symbolic and satisfying about heading in the same direction with someone</strong>, or with an entire group of people, like we did yesterday. You create rhythm and cadence, you move in agreement, with purpose, and you can measure your progress in a real way.

Since we met, Jason and I have enjoyed taking walks together and with the girls, but it didn't often occur to us as an ideal family activity until we got a dog. Now, suddenly, it's everyone's favorite way to spend time together. <strong>I think the girls simply love being able to <em>do</em> something all together, without really having to <em>do</em> anything</strong>, if you know what I mean. They know that when we're walking, they have their parents' listening ears, and they can also take our hands. And just that change of scene, stepping out of our house into the neighborhood, can do wonders for everyone's moods.
<h4>Walking in search of that deep, inner self</h4>
I think it's that change of scene, along with the physical activity and pumping of blood, that helps me think so clearly when I'm walking alone. <strong>When I'm walking, I'm able to focus in a way that's not always possible when I'm sitting still.</strong> Maybe the more accurate way to put it is this: I'm able to focus on a deeper part of my memory and subconsciousness.

When I'm walking, I uncover thoughts that have been nagging me, and examine them more closely. I pray in a way that feels more honest and real. I fluidly compose entire blog posts that I would have been unable to grasp while at the computer. <strong>I'm able to get in touch with that often-muffled voice deep within me.</strong>
<h4>Walking to connect the human race</h4>
As we walked the CROP walk yesterday—as we passed the time telling each other stories, talking about our plans for the summer, greeting people along the route, and thinking our private thoughts—I felt a sense of oneness with people around the world. Not because we really have any idea what it's like to have to walk several miles every day for water. Not because we were carrying a heavy container, or walking barefoot on uneven paths. Not even because we were raising money for people in need.

The oneness came from realizing that when people all over the world move in this most basic way, putting one foot in front of the other, they too are passing the time telling stories, singing songs, and making connections with others and with the deepest parts of themselves. <strong>Yes we are different, but we are also the same.</strong>