For Wilshire Baptist Church
Driving to downtown Dallas earlier this week, I was diverted from my usual route by road closures and traffic and found myself at the top of the hill where Peavy crosses Buckner, becomes Mockingbird Lane, and swoops down across White Rock Lake. In that moment as I came down off the hill and across the water, I felt a tug of grief. I realized it had been months, perhaps even a year, since I had even seen the lake.
It’s an odd feeling to grieve for a place that has been so important to you. I can’t blame the distance – it’s just seven miles from home – so I have to confess it’s been a lack of will and time. I’ve been too busy, and I’ve been too lazy to re-order my life to accommodate my desire and in fact my need for a visit.
There was a time in my life when White Rock Lake was the ever-present center of my world. I would see it every day and I was the better for it. In a life that was busy and crowded, just seeing the lake gave my brain some respite and elbow room. And going there to walk or bicycle was like spending time in prayer. More often than not, there was actual prayer as I walked or rode.
I didn’t grow up near the lake, but in high school and college when I had a summer job nearby, my friend John and I would sit on a dock there and eat a sack lunch or drive-through burgers. Later, John bought a sailboat and I’d be his first mate as we crisscrossed the water. One day the wind turned us over and we couldn’t stop laughing when we found ourselves standing just waist deep in the middle of the lake. In the 1990s, I worked for the engineering firm that dredged the lake, and I took some pride in the process, as if I was somehow helping an old friend recuperate from an illness. Later, the lake did the same for me as walks and bike rides helped me through times of grief and loneliness.
After LeAnn and I married and built a house near downtown Garland, we’d sometimes bike or walk at the lake, but we’ve gotten busy and found trails closer to home. Still, our driving route to church on Sunday mornings took us by the lake and I felt that same sense of peace I enjoyed years earlier. Then COVID ended the weekly drive to church, and when the pandemic was over, road construction changed our route. But road construction sent me back to White Rock this week and I’m ready to return more often.
I have some work to do first. My Trek bike sits on flat tires and needs a good cleanup and oiling. I also need to take it slow, as I’ve not ridden in two years due to rotator tendon surgery followed by cancer. The last time I saw my oncologist, he encouraged me to exercise but recommended yoga. LeAnn finally talked me into joining her for an online class, but it’s not really my thing. My thing is getting on the bike and riding. Better yet is riding at White Rock and the ever-expanding trails that lead to the lake.
During that same oncology visit, the doctor talked about the dangerous activities some of his patients engage in, such as motorcycling, that endanger all the progress they’ve made with chemo. I think that’s why he recommended yoga, but I’m going to have to part company with him on that. I want to get back on the bike; no, I need to get back on the bike. And I need to ride at White Rock Lake.
Is there a place you’re missing, an activity you’re missing, that brings you peace and restores your soul? That gives you energy and builds your strength? That clears your head and maybe makes room for prayer? Then heed the advice of a recovering slacker and get on with it while you can. It’s never too late to “go back to the lake” and “get back on the bike,” as it were, and reclaim what you’ve lost.