Going Walkabout for Lent

Thursday afternoon, late, and it is almost time to go to work... where is Rufus? The last time I saw him he was running in the glen with Barney while I fed the cows. Our new basset hound, Rufus, is red and white, short and loud. When he and Barney run, Rufus can run under Barney and not touch his belly. Lately, however, Rufus has been expanding his circle of experience. His nose picks up an interesting smell and he follows it without looking up to see where he is going. When the phone rings, a stranger’s voice asks, “Are you missing your basset hound?” Rufus has ended up two ridges over on Martin’s Ford Road. Randy tells me how to find his parent’s farm and off I go to pick up Rufus.
Randy grew up on this farm. His parents live in a little brick house that looks a lot like my parents house. He retired from the Marines, came home with his wife and built a house on the ridge above his parents. His parents, now in their eighties, need help with the farm so he came home. Years of living all over the world have erased his mountain twang but not the mountain hospitality. He invites me up to see his horses. So Rufus, belly full of dog food now, and I follow him up his drive. His two pretty paint horses come running when he calls. We stand and talk horse talk for awhile and then the conversation shifts. He begins to tell me stories of growing up in his little corner of the world... hill fields, now pasture, once growing corn, dirt clod fights with his cousins while chopping weeds in the corn, five hundred acres now shrunk down to eighty because farmers sell land to pay medical bills. We stand, leaning on his truck and swap growing up stories, learning a little about each other and part new friends. When I go to Dave’s Auto Parts the next time, I will see him working and know his name. He will know mine.
Going walkabout, whether it is Rufus or me, can have interesting results. Too often I find myself locked down, doing life the same way, day after day, without smelling the different and new that is all around me. My smeller is dulled by repetition and the requirements of being a grownup. After all, someone has to stay at home and be responsible for all the chores. Bills must be paid, animals fed, houses cleaned, food cooked, company entertained, children minded, the sick visited, the poor fed, the injustices of the world righted. Life is not a walk in the park, young lady... Oh, yes, it is. We just miss seeing the park because we have our noses, our smellers, down on the grindstone or up in the air. We are surrounded by the most wonderful gifts given to us in abundance by a Creator who loves us. How ungracious of us not to take time to enjoy all that we have been given... kind strangers who rescue lost dogs, beautiful spring flowers, soft rain in drought times, new hound dogs that are still learning their way home.
I think I will go walkabout for Lent, looking for signs and portents of life to come and life as it is now. I will say my thank yous to the One who made me and then gave me this wonderful world full of kin people not yet known. I will ask forgiveness for the carelessness and inattention in the living of my life. And I will let Rufus off his leash every now and then so that he might run and bay in joyful abandon. Maybe I will even sing along...