I’m writing from Florida and am here for a very important celebration, Micah Nathan’s first birthday. Our family lovingly nicknamed him “The Tightly Packed” because he’s chunky and wonderfully squeezable. Despite Micah’s pudge, he learned to walk early at 10 months, both plump arms straight out like a balancing pole. Watching him get around is comedic entertainment.

When a baby is learning to walk, he falls down continually. Eventually, though, he develops a toddle, and his falls happen less often. Still, it doesn’t take much to throw him to the ground. But for Micah and other one year olds, popping up without damage is the usual outcome of a fall.

A school child who falls doesn’t pop up as readily. Tears flow, and there might be a need for a cartoon-enhanced Band-Aid. But he, too, heals quickly and forgets his tumble in a hurry.

By the time we’re adults, falls are nearly non-existent. We’ve become good on our feet and sure of our step. If we do go down, it’s quite a crash, and before we get up, we pause to see if we’re hurt. Often it’s 24 hours later that we “see” what we really did through stiff muscles and fresh bruises.

A little over a year ago, when Nate’s cancer diagnosis was still new, he took a fall, the first of three during the six weeks he had left. At the time, we lacked understanding of how extensive his illness was and weren’t sure what made him lose his balance.

Nelson and Klaus, standing three feet away, were alarmed and jumped to help their father. But Nate brushed it off as nothing, embarrassed by what he labeled “a crazy fluke.” Sadly, he whacked the back of his head on the nearby door frame and got a fluke-induced goose egg, but there was no additional damage. His fall was more traumatic to us than to him.

The other day I took a fall of my own after tripping over a lamp cord. No harm was done, and I was glad no one saw me, but it made me decide I didn’t want to fall again. A broken bone, common at my age, would be less than convenient, and I’m making an effort to walk carefully, not carelessly.

If we live long enough, however, none of us will be walking. Old folk’s homes make good use of wheelchairs, and as the Bible says, aged people are sometimes taken places they don’t want to go. That’s because they can’t walk in the other direction.

When that time comes, our walking will have to be done in another realm, the realm of faith. Scripture tells us it’s best to walk by faith in God rather than by sight. The verse implies we ought to be faith-walking throughout life, not just in old age, depending on God’s guidance rather than on what we see.

When we’re able-bodied, walking through life without many physical falls, it’s easier to fall spiritually and not know it. But when we’re in a bed or wheelchair, faith-walking comes more readily. Maybe that’s the best kept secret of old age.

Meanwhile, I’m seeing “The Tightly Packed” walk well and manage life completely by sight, not faith. But it’s ok for the time being, because when he sees Grandma Midgee, he walks right to her!

“We walk by faith, not by sight.” (2 Corinthians 5:7)