Yesterday I took a walk in the garden - God's garden, along the lake front, up the bluff, through the woods and fields. Surrounded by God's beauty - colorful fall leaves, a brisk breeze, a deep and wide lake, animal footprints, views of hilltops I pursued my daily exercise.

As I walked along the lake front I saw something strange in the water. Not about to step into the cold water, I grabbed a stick to poke and prod the funny colored and unique object. When I pulled it to the surface I realized that all I had spotted was a piece of drift wood. I kept the stick I'd picked up to poke and prod and began to use it as a walking stick. Over the course of a two hour hike I became more and more dependant on my walking stick.

When I wanted to step up on a rock or step down from high place, I leaned on my walking stick. At one time I came across a muddy stream bed. I knew if I crossed it I faced the possibility of sinking in mud and destroying my good walking shoes. I stuck my walking stick out and, once again, poked and prodded, making sure the ground was firm ahead of me. When my hike became a climb, my walking stick gave me the support I needed. Often I thrust my walking stick out to move brush, spider webs, or thick undergrowth. Once or twice briars threatened to slow my process, but my walking stick swept the thorns aside. At one time I stumbled over some tree trunks and found myself standing over the remains of a small animal. How did it die? Was it a young animal? Was it hurt? I found myself grieving. Then I began to dig a hole with my walking stick. When I had a deep enough hole, I respectfully moved the tiny carcass into its resting place. I used my walking stick to return the dirt to its hole. In a minute I coved the burial plot. Leaning on my walking stick I contemplated life and death. Before long I realized I had become totally dependant on my walking stick. Something I had picked up purposefully completely eased the course of my journey.

Toward the end of my walk I spotted a beautifully marked tortoise shell, reminding me that God is a marvelous creator - no two alike! Not sure whether the animal was dead or alive, I moved slowly. Unhappily the shell was empty, but the shell begged to be picked up - the markings too lovely to let it stay lost in the woods. I wanted to display it. So I stuck my walking stick into the empty shell and lifted it up. Now my walking stick carried my prize.

After my walk, it dawned on me that God is always waiting for me along the path, waiting to help me, support me, encourage me, go before me to clear the way, give me strength, to share my sorrows and my joys. I had a talk with God last night. Before I take any walks in the future, before I get out of bed in the morning, I am going to reach up and take hold of my God. Whether I walk in the garden or find myself in the jungle, I would be wise to always take God, my Walking Stick along with me.