The Back of Beyond

Dusty has led me a merry chase across field and through woods today, having loped off after a deer (which she hasn’t a hope in catching, but she makes the effort). We ended up in a snow-covered marsh, trying to ascertain where the solid ground was and not always determining that very successfully. 

In the midst of our exertions, as I chatted to my four-legged friend, I suddenly noticed a man coming the other way, ducking and diving under the trees. We were in the back of beyond, and he was as surprised as I was to encounter anyone at all.

Turned out to be a sort of neighbour, father of one of our son’s friends, who’s lived down the road for thirty years and this is probably the third time I’ve spoken to him. We had a pleasant chat as we retraced steps through the snowy marshland.

Now we’re home, the dog smelling of ditchwater and me requiring a shower as well. But both of us feeling pleasantly satisfied from the physical effort. 

It was the solid ground – or lack thereof – that caught my attention this afternoon. A tentative step onto a tuft of grass might meet with firm resistance and a good place to put my foot, while a carpet of snow often gave way to a puddle of rank water. How often in life do I step gingerly, fearfully even, expecting to sink – and yet if I am stepping where God has led me to step, there is always a foundation on which to stand? Other times I plough on stubbornly, certain that I have chosen a good path, when suddenly I find myself up to my knees in smelly water. 

My Word is a lamp to your feet, God tells me. I need to remember that, even in the midst of the quagmire of life.