Dad loved to hunt and eat squirrel and by the time I was twelve, he wanted me to as well. I heard the hinges squeak on my bedroom door when Dad peeked his head in to wake me up. But he didn’t have to call my name, I had been awake for hours.
The air hung heavy with humidity, yet still emitted a fall crisp. My grandmother had always said squirrels were no good until after the first frost fell. It killed the wolves, as she called them. It took us thirty minutes to drive to the river. Stately oaks stood like generals watching over their troops. Moss covered their branches like a quilt covers you on a cold winter night. But I couldn’t see any of this when we arrived because daylight was still at least an hour away.
We walked slowly through the woods. Dew decorated the limbs of the small scrub bushes, giving me a brief shower every time Dad let one flap my way. I followed Dad’s flashlight beam as it scattered across the forest floor and pranced through the treetops. He searched for just the right place. After all, it was my first time, and he wanted me to succeed. Finally, he found the right place. “Sit here and wait,” he told me, and then he walked off to find his tree.
In the beginning, God had a habit of walking with Adam and Eve, perhaps daily. God created humanity for fellowship, so this would only be natural.
God wants that same type of relationship with everyone. I, like Adam and Eve, have often messed up my walk with God. I’ve sinned and not confessed, I’ve gotten too busy with other things — good things, I’ve focused too much on relationships with others, and the list could go on.
The good news is that none of the things in the past — or in the present — can hinder my walk with God unless I choose to let it. God is in the restoration business — as God proved with Adam and Eve. No matter what we’ve done or are presently doing, God can cover it so the walks can continue. All we have to do is give it to God.
"When I became a parent, I struggled to find God within the chaotic world where I now lived. I was used to contemplative prayer, to silence and service and listening for God’s still, small voice in quiet, hidden spaces. Suddenly none of my life felt quiet or hidden – it was all loud, messy, and exposed." Discover more.