Lost in the Woods

When we were much younger, around 8 years old, Cameron and I got lost in the woods. Dad used to take us with him sometimes when we were children as he worked at the Fombelle's doing grounds-keeping. They had just over 40 acres of land and a good portion of it was still wooded. Norman also let another portion in the back return to prairie.

Cam & I often tagged along with Dad. It may not have been ideal, but most people didn't mind. We were never much for causing trouble and we tried our best to help work when we could, at least for a little while. Often we were able to hang out with Michael (Jr) and Paige, so we all kept busy and out of the adults hair.

I say we never got in much trouble, however I have a distinct memory burned into my mind of a time Michael was told not to play near the house with what I believe was only a tennis ball and wiffle bat because of all the windows. He waited a few minutes and then decided to test his theory that a tennis ball wouldn't break a window. His hypothesis was wrong, and he knew it the moment he hit that ball. As glass shattered upstairs, he dropped the bat and ran as fast as he could toward that tall prairie grass. I remember it so well, because I do not run. So I was left standing next to the evidence with his very angry grandfather marching toward me. I remember being afraid as Norman was towering over me, but only for a moment. He was intimidating, but I knew if I was honest everything would be okay for me; and Michael (although the consequences of his actions caused him more pain).

I'm straying away from my initial thought, but I can see how both of these stories will be relevant soon.

Cam and I were alone that day, and we followed the creek through the woods and started up a hill in a place we hadn't explored before. Eventually we made it into a clearing, then realized we were unsure of the best path toward the house. Although we had arrived in this place together on the same path, we neither one recognized any landmarks and were ignorant of cardinal directions. We were afraid and did the only thing we knew to do. We called out to our father. (And by that, of course I mean we were just screaming for Dad.)

It didn't last more than a few seconds before a slightly confused: "What?!" rang out behind us. Dad happened to be loading up mulch from a pile just outside the tree line, and was probably only 25 feet away from us. Hearing his voice brought me immediate comfort, but also a little shame inside from the foolishness of the situation.

I started writing this months before publishing, but forgive me for not taking the time to review or edit. I like things that way. These stories came to mind as I was struggling with decisions about life, work, etc. I was once again feeling lost in the woods and cried out to my Father. Prayer has a way of bringing clarity to situations of hopelessness. It's strange how we can feel so far away from God, and yet he's just out of our view. He knows where we are though and we're probably safer than we think.

I also see the image of Father God in the other story. Sometimes he clearly tells us not to do something, we do it anyway. There's often a moment of surprise or rather clarity when we understand why he said not to do it. Those moments also tend to accompany periods of pain, which we should have expected. We serve a just God, but also a gracious one who shows mercy when we are honest and repentant. His wisdom and knowledge supersedes ours in every way. I've had my moments of defiance and suffered the consequences in real time. I've also made mistakes, owned up to them and suffered less.

There are definitely a lot of times I get caught up in my own thoughts and struggle to get through the day. I have never truly felt alone, even though I have had moments of loneliness. Short and simple prayers have always removed that fear. Even if that feeling is swapped for a little bit of foolishness, I know I am loved and that my perspective just needs to change. His voice doesn't always draw me out of the woods, but it gives me a direction to follow. Sometimes I'm running toward that prairie grass myself, but he always catches up.