Sunday, July 27, 2008

Where I am

"It's late afternoon at the lake. The turtles are moving closer to shore. The surface of the water is undisturbed, an expanse of smooth, grey slate. Most of the children in my neighbourhood are called home for supper by their mothers. They open the back doors, wipe their hands on their aprons, and yell, "Willie!" or "Joe!" or "Ray!" Either that or they use a bell, bolted to the doorframe and loud enough to start the dogs barking in backyards all along the street. But I was always called home by my father, and he didn't do it in the customary way. He walked down the alley all the way to the lake. If I was close, I could hear his shoes on the gravel before he came into sight. If I was far, I would see him across the surface of the water, emerging out of shadows and into the grey light. He would stand with his hands in the pockets of the windbreaker while he looked for me. This is how he got me to come home. He always came to the place where I was before he called my name."
-- Salvation on Sand Mountain by Dennis Covington

I got this in an email, and fully agreed with the little note it included.
That this excerpt reminded me so much of how God comes down all the way to where we are before saying our name.

He doesn't scream from a million miles away or "expect us to come groveling", as my friend put it, even though He has every right to.
I loved how something as simple as that rang with such complete and utter truth that it sort of hits you and wakes you up.

And don't we all take it for granted, every single day?
We think nothing of how He comes down to meet us, and call us by name, instead of ringing bells or clanging pots and pans.

I'm going to be right here, listening for Daddy's footsteps.

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