Wanderlust

"Itchy feet" describes my 10-pound long-haired, black and tan dachshund like no other phrase. Some of my friends may remember when the little one had a close encounter with a coyote in the woods near our house in January. She had bite wounds around her shoulders, on her head and it punctured her trachea.

Of my three dachshunds, she's been blessed or maybe "cursed" is a better word with the old country hunting gene. Chasing rabbits, digging into burrows, sniffing out her prey with tenacity and fervor. Unfortunately she met her match in a frosty winter bog behind our pond. After nearly a week in I.C.U., and several weeks of recovery at home, we thought she was on the mend. Then one morning she got up and could barely walk from back pain. More restrictions in the baby play pen for another eight weeks though set her right.

It's now six months from her accident and about two months since her back problems so we all thought we could breathe a sign of relief. Unfortunately, the little bugger now has a new disease—wanderlust.

Here is little D.K. sitting at the back door aching for the woods. And, it's really hard for me to say "no" to her. I mean after all, she is a dog and I've gotta let her "be a dog." Right? I let her out and watch her scurry across the sidewalk, bound for adventures in the deep grasses. And, she never comes back of her own accord – it requires work from me. Yes, you guessed it. I'm out calling and hunting and pleading with her to come inside. Once back in the house, she laps up a bowl of water and then collapses until another bout of wanderlust strikes her. She's up to about three adventures every day. I'm not sure if I can keep up.

D.K.'s forays into the forest remind me of how I sometimes get distracted with "itchy feet" and fail to find God's best path for me. It might be rest I need or a new attitude, but instead I'm off exploring or wasting time. As I wander farther and farther into the brush it gets harder and harder to hear His voice. He calls and calls, but only after His persistence do I finally hear His cries and strike out for the safety of home—His arms.