There’s a park across the street where I take the dog to run.
Once we make it to the sidewalk bordering the park, a huge hill drops into a field. Then another drop where there’s a pond and a playground.
It’s lovely all seasons. St. Louis winters cover it with fantastically white snow.
One morning a few weeks ago after the sledders were called back to class, the dog and I ventured out.
Mountain climbers at the summit, this was our hill, silent and packed with muddied snow. Marred from dozens of children’s boots and sleds.
No sooner did I let the dog off the leash than she proceeded to run as if the hill were covered in tender spring grass.
I started my descent much slower than she did. No matter. Unless I stood perfectly still, it became apparent I was going to fall.
The dog skidded and turned to go back up. Her toenails clicked, grasping for ground but only sliding on the slick surface. I watched her dance around in a little circle, slipping, grasping, turning, prancing.
I thought of the impending, embarrassing emergency rescue, ambulance and all. Then I noticed the dog.
She’d stopped her desperate jitterbug and was running down the hill again. So I followed her in the same manner.
When we ran full speed down the hill, our feet were light and had no time to slide. Laughing, screaming, I ran after that dog and remembered sometimes it’s wiser to plunge headlong into whatever I’m facing than to spin in a hesitant, futile reach for safety.
David ran toward the battle line to meet Goliath. Lord, may I run like that too. Fearlessly, may I run.
As the Philistine moved closer to attack him, David ran quickly toward the battle line to meet him. 1 Samuel 17:48 NIV
This post was first published on February 23, 2011, here.