In Cadence

When the sun rose today, my collie began his usual morning ritual. I think he is practicing to be Lassie. He begins crying as though some lost child needs our help outside. “Come on, wake up, we have to go out looking for the child!” he whimpers. I ignore him hoping for a few more precious moments of sleep. Moments later a wet nose nudges my arm and exhales in a playful sneeze. “Let’s go, the day’s wasting away,” he wags.

“Ok, I’m yours.” I’m outta bed and getting ready for our morning walk. He’s already waiting at the door for me. But today is different. When I open the door we’re greeted by cool air, low humidity. Florida’s beastly long summer is fading. This is the first day in six months the temperature had dipped below 70. We drink in a long breath of this beautiful morning before we hit the road.

The dog is alert and excited because of the cooler air. We’re off.  I start praying, beginning with my thankful thoughts about this gorgeous morning.  But I can’t stay focused. The dog is criss-crossing in front of me.  He nearly trips me as he darts back and forth across the sidewalk sniffing everything.

As a puppy, my dog was training to be a guide dog for the blind. Although he flunked out of the program, he habitually walks on my left side slightly ahead of me. No pulling on the leash like a sled dog either. Because of all that training, he’s fun to walk, except that he likes to stop and smell all kinds of things along the way. Today the sniffing is ten times worse. Does cool air make things smell different? I finally correct him and tell him to get in line. “You’re getting in my way, cut it out, K.C.!” He gets in line. For a minute. Then he’s following his nose again.

My frustration mounts. What’s gotten into him? I’m trying to get some exercise and instead I’m falling over the dog. I have a sudden realization. I get in God’s way too. Just like this. I become so excited — or sometimes so fretful — about things that I forget what I’m supposed to be all about.

I tell my Father I’m sorry. I’m so humbled and embarrassed by this realization that I have to stop and listen for a minute. I see a few things a little more clearly. He tells me to stop worrying. Worrying contradicts faith. “I love the person you are praying for. I am on his side. Stop pleading with me and start agreeing in faith that I have the situation under control. I’m almost tripping over you. One minute you pray in faith, the next minute you’re complaining and confessing all kinds of problems. You’re criss-crossing all over our path. I’ve shown you what that’s like in the natural through K.C. so you could understand it in the spiritual realm.”

As a result, my prayers for my son change. I feel the Spirit pray through me, as though I have not come up with the words. I am less pleading. The worries are gone. I submit to what my Father is doing. "Lord, I come into agreement with you about Jon because I know you want the best for him." This replaces my usual, "Please help Jon, Lord," type of prayer.

Yes, God is for us.  The more I think about it, “Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven” is simply coming into agreement with God.

I get it. I’m so refreshed by today’s revelation. Today I’m in cadence with the One walking beside me. He’s in control. I make the choice to agree with Him, trust Him, obey Him.  I’m enjoying my walk a lot more now.  Oh what a sweet breeze!

Toddling

Sometimes when I think of Dad, I remember being a little girl holding his hand. I remember being so small that my little hand could only wrap around his stout index finger. I always felt secure holding Dad's hand. He taught me how to trust. Sometimes doubt and fear still flare up in my heart, but a voice in the stillness asks me to sit and listen. Hidden memories begin to surface and my escort helps me understand.

Reliving memories is exercise and it's not always easy. Sometimes I remember the crushing experience of ridicule, the paralysis of fear, the pain of being victimized, loneliness, the struggles of illness, and the ache of seeing a child suffer. But I also relive the thrill of winning a race, falling in love, childbirth, the support of true friendship, finding faith, and the pure joy of leading another to Jesus.

I remember doing migrant work picking fruit; vivid sights of rainbows, the feeling of rain on my face, the ache of a back too-long hunched over, and the kindness of fellow workers.

The bondage and shame of addictions rears up in memory so vividly that I sometimes feel crushed again. The frustration and strength found in the slow lessons of waiting come to mind. In thought, I ride down the slope of dependence and back to the high thrill of independence. Once again I sense the emptiness of feeling needy and the contrasting comfort of fulfillment.

Remember the refreshing sensation of sunlight warming you up? What about the peace of a misty outdoor morning walk, the fun of giving, the intimacy of losing yourself in worship, catching a favorite fragrance – freshly cut grass, honeysuckle, approaching rain, coffee – the sweetness of a child's cuddle, the stimulation of new discoveries, and the rushing of your heartbeat when you know God is revealing a new truth.

As I reflect, the Lord reminds me that he's been with me all along, just like my dad for his toddler. He catches me, supports me, and shows me the sweetness of life. If he had withdrawn his hand, I would have fallen hopelessly during the struggles. And without knowing he was near, the victories would have lost a lot of their flavor.

I'm still walking like a toddler in so many areas of life. What a comfort to know my little hand is wrapped around the fingers of an unfailing savior. I know I have value in his eyes because he always stays beside me - at my toddler's pace - catching me when I stumble, renewing my strength, and rejoicing when I take bold new steps.