Of Wet Walks and Signposts

We’ve not done the ‘wet walk’ for weeks, so Dusty and I slipped out of the house just after 7 and headed for the castle. 

The wet walk used to include many pauses along the way, at every small loch and bubbling burn so that I could pitch sticks into the water for this manic dog who would race down the bank and leap into the water to retrieve it. She had a habit of waiting for the second stick to be thrown before she launched herself, so that she could round up two sticks at a time and bring them back.

Past tense because now, at 13, she is more sedate in her approach to the water. There are no more wild flings into the loch, more like gentle wades, though she does still enjoy the water and could seemingly continue to retrieve sticks until my arm went into spasm. 

During our absence from this walk the rangers have made a few improvements – straightened a pathway (was that really necessary?), and tacked up a few more signposts. Blue and red arrows, depending on the walk you want. 

The thing is, though, that I know these woods, so I went ahead and ignored the new signpost. A few hundred yards later, another signpost appeared anyway, though I wasn’t on the officially designated path anymore. I guess the ranger realized there would be some rebellious types who would ignore the first arrows but might just be grateful for a second guide to indicate the way out of the woods.

Made me think of God. He gives us all signposts on the road of life. Some are subtle, some are in your face. Since he gives us free choice, we are all able to ignore their guidance and strike out in our own direction. But even when we do rebel and do our own thing, he meets us in the midst of that and gently indicates the best path for us. However many times we go against the arrows, he will still be found on whatever path we take, ‘recalculating’ the best route for us. And if we end up in the mire with no signposts in sight, we just need to look up and he’ll be there.

Some of us do our own things for years and years; others of us join in on God’s path earlier on. But whichever way we’ve chosen to take, he loves each of us so much he continues to slip ahead of us and plant another signpost, hoping that perhaps this time, the errant heart will follow.

Trees of the Field

Our summer weather continues to amaze and wilt us. Today it is in the 80’s – 30degrees C – which is unheard of in this corner of the globe. Loving it.

So Dusty and I opted for the ‘wet walk’ at Crathes Castle around 11 this morning. Or the ‘swimming for sticks’ walk – both names are recognised by Dusty who eagerly races to the car. Only today, with the summer weather we’ve been having, the wet walk was rather dried up! Well, only the big loch, really. The burns still gurgled, though less full than normal.

After several stick throwing diversions, Dusty and I headed on towards the Castle and I suddenly noticed the trees. Not that I wasn’t aware of them – they provided the canopy of cool which Dusty especially was loving. What I noticed, though, was how many broken-off branches there were lower down, before the leafy bits at the tops. I wondered how many of the branches were casualties of the weather – wind or lightning perhaps – and how many were pruned off? I wondered if any had just withered and died, malnourished from the centre somehow. 

Our lives are a bit like that. How many branches budded forth in my life, promising fulfilment perhaps, only to wither and die as I neglected to feed them? Ideas I’ve had for writing projects, for instance. Intentions of visiting shut-ins, perhaps. 

How many branches were growing strongly and then suddenly got broken off by external forces? Relationships which were broken – perhaps because someone died, like my sister Judy. Relationships which just withered because I didn’t nurture them. Relationships which became diseased in some way and were allowed to die.

Does my life have all the branches it is supposed to, or have i let God and myself down by allowing some to break off or wither?

There’s something so wonderful about tall trees. So majestic. So strong. Some, so ancient. We celebrate the bits we see, and forget about the branches that may have once given shelter to birds, shade to cows, but which are no longer there.

There’s a verse in the Old Testament about the ‘trees of the field clapping their hands’. Strange verse. But it refers to the days when heaven will be re-established on earth. When earth will once more be all it was created to be. Joy will be the norm, not sorrow.

Something reminiscent of branches in the clapping of a tree’s hands. I pray that on that incredible day when earth is once again 100% the Lord’s, all my branches will be restored, and I’ll be clapping them in jubilation.