My mother, heavy in her second pregnancy, peered from the front porch of the house we were renting, as her eyes searched frantically for me; finally, she saw the wheat weaving in the arid windless day. The only reason for that disrupt of nature would be a visiting puppy and me. We were making a clean break for the far reaches of the end of the field that butted up to a busy highway. A young farm worker heard the anxiety in her voice, as she called to me, and ran through the tall grass and captured the young sprinting wanderer, me.
If I could truly remember the thoughts I was having as a two and half year old, they would go something like this, "This is fun, how did I get away from her anyhow, what will I do when I get there and where is there? Wish my legs were taller so I could see over this itchy green stuff. I know where is up and where is down, but I don't know what is front of me, but I'll find out." Serious questions for one so young to be asking herself, all the while running to nowhere amid the tall spring wheat.
"How", you ask, "do you know all of that?" Because nothing much has changed. I have been a life-long "wonderer" and "wanderer".You know about "runners", I was just like the little three year old boy Dr. Dobson told about, who was staring out of the window when overheard by his Mother saying, "I've just got to get out of here!" "The Other" is out there, explore it is what you do.
God put an insatiable desire of curiosity in my make up for some reason. Corners and that which is around them have always lured me. How much ground have I covered during my "running" days? Well, not a lot, after I reached the age of responsibility I came to realize there is a price to pay for behavior and a daring spirit, so I learned to have my adventures in books, in make believe also in about an eight-block area of my neighborhood, and that saved me a world of trouble.
But, before this time there were the days my bicycle just sang a siren's song to lure me and I would answer, up and on and away I would go. The wind blowing through my hair, and I was off, pedaling quickly past my tormentors house in case the bully was outside. One memorable trip—around the age of ten—took me far out into the country about five miles on the busy highway then about half a mile on a gravel road, not easy for a city girl on a two-wheeler, but I found my friend's house just where I thought it should be. Surprise, she was not at home. So I just took a look at the hogs in the pen by the house, I had never seen such a huge fat animals that close before, no more pork chops for me. Her mother was shocked that I came so far on my bike, and then she asked the fateful question.
"Does your Mother know that you are here?"
Oh, oh, this was the first time I had thought about it very seriously. The going home was not as much fun as the venturing forth, I had a flat tire and had to push my bike all the way, while trying to look like that was just what I wanted to do. Was I beaten upon entering my house? No, as usual I think my Mother was just so happy that I was still alive and could set the table, saving my brother the humiliation of having to do that girlish duty!
Don't you wonder why God gives us our unique personalities, and in His great plan how do we (the ones with the not so usual traits) offer this back to him? Only a gracious God could use a semi-wild child to return glory to him. Do you think that in me he has sensed a kinship with His Son who also at times lived a daring life; walking on water, hauling in tons of fish, forgiving (oh my) a shameful woman, tearing up the temple, changing the course of lives and nations, most of all daring to die on a cross for all, including me?
I gave Him all of me a long time ago, no great prize, and in spite of this in return He gave me all of Himself. Together we have run through many tall grasses, but the difference is I now know where I am going. Hand in hand, my King and I run, and I think He is leading me to the corner and we'll go around it together.