Our Daily Walk

It's a matter of faith, our daily walk. The dogs and I get up at 5:15 and head out into the dark of the house. There's stuff to do. A dance to choreograph, in a manner of speaking. I let out Little Bear, I begin to feed the cats. They eat in separate spaces around the house. I clean the litter boxes. I start tea. I let out the Mother Cat, let in Little Bear, let out Bumby. Then I get the dogs' breakfasts ready. Bumby has been pounding frantically at the back door ever since she heard the food bowls rattle, and so she comes in. They eat. I pour the water into the teapot. And then I sit down with a devotional guide and my Bible. I read Scripture. I read the daily devotion. And then I pray a prayer of thanksgiving.

Thankful for a good night's rest in a warm, dry bed. Thankful for this house with its sound roof and good plumbing, fresh clean running water, ample food, clothing to wear. Thankful for the health and strength to meet the tasks of another day. Thankful for the abundance of blessings with which God fills my day. Thankful for my jobs that pay the bills and for the kindness of church family, friends and family. Thankful for this village and its relative peace and safety. Thankful for my daughter, the dogs, the cats, the fish, and all that they teach me and give me with their love, and for all that I have learned and have been given in caring for them. Thankful for God's guidance and correction and forgiveness, kindness, love and compassion. Thankful for the pot of tea steeping before me which reminds me of God's faithfulness in caring for me. He never falters. I do. I am truly not up to the task of my life. Grossly inadequate, in fact. But beneath the shelter of God's great wings, his nurturing love, I manage.

And so, I pour the tea and drink it, in gratitude. And then I rise, and stretch, and the dogs, who have waited very patiently, know it is time to go. I put on my boots, I put on their leashes, get my keys, and out the door we go. It has been dark during our walking time for over a month now. I don't always like it but there we are. This walk is an act of faith.

I go every single day of the year. I do not miss a day, except for when I am away at the the orphanage in Jamaica, but that is another story. The dogs are counting on me. I must keep faith with them. In the same way God never gives up one me, I never give up on them. They are always ready and willing to go. It is me who would falter, who would say, Nah, maybe tomorrow. But I don't. I am practicing faith. And the walk is good for all of us. Bumby used to get fatty cysts before we started this daily walk. The vigorous exercise she receives when I set her loose in the meadow beyond the Field of the Big Tree, below The Place Where the Lightning Strikes, that joyful time of running free has made those cysts history. Little Bear can't be allowed to run loose because he takes off into the woods to hunt deer, but he has a long lead and he loves to sniff and pee and dig and set the course of our path. He comes from a litter of sled dogs, and can he pull. So I get my workout too, upper and lower body!

It takes faith to walk out into the darkness alone with the dogs and not be afraid. It is my own little setting off into the unknown, first thing in the day, when I am sensitive and soft. Some days it is raining or foggy, some days it is snowing or the snow is already very deep. Other days there is ice and it is dark and I must feel my way along. Some days are simply glorious with a million stars, or with a sunrise shining like blonde glory above deeply indigo hills. Some days we see deer, or a hawk hunting for her breakfast. Some days we see wild turkeys. Some days the mist clings thickly white to the river down below, its edges like tattered cotton tangling up into the hills. Every day I know that I am blessed in a million ways.

At a certain point in our walk, when I have gathered the dogs back in, when Bumby is tied again and Little Bear's leash is shortened, we come to a path that is lined with 150 year old Norway spruces, black and huge in the semi-darkness. It is like a cathedral there and I talk to God. Out loud I say this Psalm, and I concentrate on the words, and on their truth to me, in my life, on our daily walk:

The Lord is my shepherd;
I have everything I need.
He lets me rest in fields of green grass,
And leads me to quiet pools of fresh water.
He gives me new strength!
He guides me in the right paths,
as he has promised.
And even if I walk through the deepest darkness,
I will not be afraid, Lord, for you are with me.
Your shepherd's rod and staff protect me.......



Until next time, I remain, your friend, Rozenkraai