By Sandra Bost
I fell in the mud this week. It was one of those days when I was trying to do more than I realistically should have. I was in a hurry, getting into the car to pick up my grandbabies for a birthday party, when my foot slipped right out from under me in a mud puddle, landing me in a hurdle split. Exasperated, I ran back into the house, changed my shoes, and grabbed some wipes to clean the bottom of the only clean pants I had left to wear. (Did I mention it’s been a week?)
I was ten minutes late to get the babies, and as I neared their house, the bottom fell out of the sky. I wheeled into three different parking arrangements when I arrived, trying desperately to avoid the flash flood that I knew would be a disaster for little feet to wade through. Umbrella-less, I hopped out of the car and made three trips to and from the house to buckle three little, slightly damp bodies into their car seats. Meanwhile, my second pair of shoes for the day were drenched, along with my muddy pants and fresh hairdo.
We arrived at the birthday party a little worse for wear, but the rain had subsided and the birthday boy was delighted to see us—drippy wet and all.
That is not what I intended to write about, but it sets the stage for what happened Tuesday. The ground still hadn’t had time to absorb the sheer amount of rain that had fallen over the last few days. As such, there were streams of running water and muddy puddles everywhere.
On our walk that day, as I was dodging puddles and muddy patches, our deaf American Bulldog was pulling on his leash, trying to drag me into the wet grass. I responded with a hearty tug of my own. Planting my feet firmly on the high ground of the gravel road, I let him know that I had zero intentions of following him into the grass or letting his white paws touch the mud. He was completely unfazed by my declaration and continued to play his fruitless game of tug-of-war.
I write a lot about this beast of burden—not because I am especially fond of him, but because it is during our walks together amidst the trees that my mind finally quiets. It’s where I can see and hear in a way I don’t take the time to do throughout the rest of the day.
Looking down at my stubborn companion, I caught a glimpse of myself.
How often am I the one pulling hard on the leash, determined to drag my Creator into the muddy patches of my own schedule, my own anxieties, or my own willful desires? I want to go my own way, unfazed by the gentle—and sometimes hearty—tugs of Holy Spirit telling me to stay put.
I knew the grass was a trap that would leave us both a mess, yet ol’ boy kept pulling. In the same way, God sees the hidden pitfalls, the emotional quagmires, and the spiritual mud paths we try to wander into. When He corrects our course or holds us back, it isn’t to restrict our freedom; it’s to protect our peace and keep our feet steady.
Proverbs 4:26-27 instructs us to, “Give careful thought to the paths for your feet and be steadfast in all your ways. Do not turn to the right or the left; keep your foot from evil” (NIV). Sometimes, staying on the right path simply means letting go of our stubborn weight and letting the Master guide the walk.
In order to follow His lead, we have to be willing to slow down enough to see which path we are actually placing under our feet. We must choose the slow, steady, gravel road of prayer, scripture, and rest, even when the world is pulling us to run straight into the mud.
Where are you feeling a tug-of-war this week? Where do you need to plant your feet?
Take a deep breath, release your grip on the frantic pace of this day, and trust that the Master is perfectly capable of keeping your feet steady, your heart at peace, and your path clear of the mud. After all, life is far too short—and the ground far too slippery—to try and navigate the race in our own frantic strength. Let Him guide your steps today, because staying on His path is a whole lot easier than landing in another hurdle split. Ask me how I know!
Stay grounded, Friends.
