May I Make A Suggestion? Surrender.

If you read last week’s post, you will understand when I tell you that I heard the barking of the dogs before I spotted any one of them. I was on my Sunday walk. I hadn’t completed the 9 ½ mile loop in two months and I was praying that God would help me with this week’s post. I knew what I wanted to write, but I was full of doubt about turning the wisdom into words. I was having a difficult time trusting myself; trusting God. I thought that taking on the 9 ½ mile loop would grant me the opportunity to go over the post in my mind. It was raining and I knew that I would have the trail to myself.

There is a particular corner in the wood where I sometimes hear a kennel of dogs in the distance. Persons on the trail have warned me that they have spotted loose dogs around this area. I have never seen them.

When I heard the dogs barking, I gave it little thought, until the barking was no longer distant. It sounded as though it was getting closer. Too close. A lone, unleashed German Shepard came bounding out of the ferns, and I stopped in my tracks. The dog stopped and we locked eyes. We were about two hundred feet from one another. The dog started barking and then broke into a run toward me. All of my German Shepard fears flooded over me. A black and white civil rights montage screamed in my thoughts.

I had to make a decision, and my mind provided only two options: outrun the dog or get to the other side of the fence that separated the trail from the reservoir. I chose the barrier. German Shepards are fast. I did not hop the fence. I did not scurry up the fence and down the other side. I climbed the fence like a forty-seven-year-old woman who does very little weight-training. It was awkward and slow. When I made it to the top of the anti-climb, chain link fence, my pants were ripped and my leg was shredded, and the dog was gone. I tried to get down to look at my leg, but my backpack was caught on the top of the fence. I was hanging there by my backpack. I had no strength to lift myself up again, but I couldn’t hang there all day. After much maneuvering, I freed myself and stood on the protected land.

I used the water in my Hydroflask to rinse the cuts on my hands and cleaned them with hand sanitizer. Attention to my legs would have to wait until I got home, but I could feel the blood flowing freely from the cuts. I started my walking with adrenaline coursing through my whole body. As the fear began to wear off, I looked around and realized that I was in an unfamiliar environment. I admire the trees and the sounds of the reservoir, but I have no idea what actually lives inside of it. I wasn’t interested in finding out. I was afraid of being inside the reservoir, but I was also afraid to climb the fence again.

After about a quarter mile of walking, I knew that I had to make a move. I looked around and located a bow-shaped, medium sized tree branch. I positioned the tree branch atop the high support bar to keep my hands and legs from being cut-up again. Each time I began to climb, my leg started shaking and my fear outweighed my potential. Once on the ground, I talked myself into trying again, and again. I laughed at myself. I tried the “Just Do It” philosophy. I prayed. I called on the ancestors. I slowed my breathing. None of it worked. When It was time to pull my leg over the top of the fence, the shaking started all over again. Finally, I decided to surrender. I said aloud, “Ok. I trust you, God. I’m going to pull my leg over.” Without grace or precision, I pulled my leg to meet the arc of the tree branch where it got stuck on the exposed metal. I was now up in the air, fixed to the top of the fence.

And that is when I identified a runner coming my way. He was cruising. He looked as though he was going to keep running past me, but instead cocked his head to the side and asked, “Do you need help?”

“Yes. I do.”

He stopped and looked at my predicament. “Ok. Pull your leg over and I’ll help you down.”

“My leg is stuck.”

He stepped back to reconfigure the plan.

“Ok. Put your right hand in my hand and step on my forearm.”

That meant that he would have to support my full weight. I wanted to get down.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said with complete confidence. Supporting my full weight, he lifted me upward, freeing my leg and lowered me to the ground.

I was grateful. I was shaking. I told him that I spotted a loose German Shepard in the direction he was headed. He thanked me for the information.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Nathan.”

“Thank you so much, Nathan.”

He told me that I was welcome and set off to continue his run. His name is Nathan. The name Nathaniel is derived from the Greek form of the Hebrew Netan’el meaning Gift of God or God/El has given.

I can’t make this stuff up.

When I reached the busy arterial, I put on my headphones and praise danced all the way back home. I know that I’m going to make decisions based on emotion, and I will find myself in the wilderness, but if I continue to practice calming myself and if I put my trust in God. He will provide.