"Finding Our Way Home" by Amy Duncan

At the tail end of spring, Greg and I added a new member to our household. We adopted a rescue dog named June, and our lives haven’t been the same. Having always been a “cat person,” this is the first dog of my entire life. I have to say that I could not love her more.

One of the first adjustments was realizing that this border collie/pointer mix was going to need a lot of exercise—two to three walks a day, every day! We soon settled into a few regular routes, and it was clear that June began to learn the neighborhood. She could anticipate which way to turn at street corners, and she would quicken her pace as we approached home.

In early December, Greg had her out on an evening walk after dark. Though the route was familiar, something spooked her, and she panicked. Somehow in her fear, she wriggled out of her harness and took off into the night. Her coat is nearly all black, so Greg immediately lost sight of her as she sprinted away. And sprint she did! She is fast as lightning! The area behind the houses where they were walking is wooded, and Greg feared she would disappear and become totally lost, or worse, run through the streets in the dark and be hit by a car.

In what could only have been a couple of minutes later, she suddenly appeared on our back deck as I was putting some things away in the kitchen. Greg hadn’t even had a chance to call me yet. I was puzzled but let her in, noting that she was no longer wearing a harness and must have broken free. 

After Greg was back home, we determined that she had to have navigated the streets to get home. Had she gone through the woods, there would have been evidence with burs, leaves, or dirt on her fur. That meant she had made several turns and knew not only how to get to our house in the dark but to go around to the back to run up on the deck. We were simply overwhelmed.

And then we were overwhelmingly grateful. Because this meant that in her moment of fear, June ran home. She knew this home and the people in it were her safe harbor. She knew that she would be protected and loved within this place and that we would welcome her in with open arms. 

In my walk with her the following morning, I was struck with the notion that this was how it is with God. Even familiar places and events can suddenly become strange and frightening. Unknown elements can assert themselves in our trusted paths, and we can find ourselves unmoored and out of the protection of routines and boundaries. In God there is always a safe place to return, but what June reminded me is that we can get there faster and with more assurance when we have practiced the route. June found her way home alone and in the dark because she had practiced going home hundreds of times. The path to her place of safety was well-trod.

What can we do as we begin a new year to practice our way home? More time in prayer? Reading Scripture? Committing time to worship? Tuning out the noise of the world and listening for the voice of God? When we adopted June, we knew that we had made a commitment to her care, including those walks. A new year is a perfect time to renew, or perhaps even to begin, a commitment to our walk with God.