I'm happiest when I'm wandering, especially somewhere new. While at Amelia Island last week, I spent some time at Fort Clinch climbing walls and considering how fun it would be to own a cannon.
I thought about the line from the hymn, "Prone to wander, Lord I feel it," and couldn't help but think, "not really." Oh, I know what Robert Robinson meant and I echo his sentiments. I don't want to be wandering from the Lord, either.
But, I have to believe it's possible to wander to the Lord. A different book, a new idea, experiencing a new tradition, finding him to be faithful and showing up when we aren't looking all draw us to him.
I stumble in the darkness, but I wander toward the light. "I am the light of the world." Even in a tiny rundown fort never used in battle, he shines. Historical settings make it easier for me to worship the ageless one. "I was. I am. I am to come"
So, I won't pray for a heart that doesn't wander. Some of my best spiritual discoveries have come from forks in the road. My best God moments have been in an unknown place, wandering a road less traveled with people who have different ideas. I will pray that all my wanderings bring me closer to Home and closer to Him.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
I'm wrapping up this year of my life with a little trip to the beach. Today I stood in the ocean at high tide with wild wind and let myself be hit by gigantic waves. Over and over and over again.
Sometimes it's good to feel small. Human.
I find it significantly easier to surrender when drowning in salt water. It doesn't hurt on occasion to let the Creator remind me I am created. Limited. Dependent.
My days are in his hands. My future secure in him. I forget sometimes, but it's still true.
And tonight, as the sun sets, I'm thankful for another year. Thankful for the times the waves have been overpowering and for the grace that has poured in as they've subsided. For the good times. The hard times. The in between times. And most thankful that the One the winds and the waves obey expects nothing less from me.
In this new year of life, I hope He finds me more trustworthy, faithful, obedient and loving. And if I'm still here 365 days from now, I hope I know Him better than I do today.
The journey continues....
Friday, March 2, 2012
I always refer to my pup Shine as my rescue dog. It's true that I rescued her from being put to sleep mere hours before the injection, but really, she rescued me.
I didn't know the day I picked her up from the pound smelling like old urine, infested with heartworms and limping from a torn knee meniscus that I was the one who would need saving.
I didn't know I was entering into a season where I would find the reassurance in the bright brown eyes of a happy lab mix who seemed heaven sent to help me believe in love unconditional.
She runs faster than my healthy dogs limping to greet me first. She throws all 70 pounds of herself into my lap at every opportunity clueless that she's not exactly a lap dog. When I'm on the couch reading she jumps all the way up, licks my hand and jumps down again just to reassure me she's there.
People were mean to her the whole first year of her life and yet her eyes leak trust and forgiveness.
She's been sick the past few weeks with a bad bladder infection and now bladder stones. She will have surgery on Thursday, but as we wait it's breaking my heart to know she's hurting. It's super hard and painful for her to go potty and she flinches when I open the door for her to go out.
At 3 am I sat on the back porch with her. She didn't seem to be in a hurry and I'm not one to judge the length of time it takes to gather strength. So we sat there together and waited. Bathed in moonlight and comforted in companionship I savored the peace of that moment.
I remembered there's joy in the waiting and even though it feels that way sometimes, I'm not alone. Someone who knew me from the foundation of the world knows my every thought, every tear, every frustration and every moment. And he reaches down with compassionate love and invites me to be rescued.