I Will Not Freak Out About the Stock Market!

It was about the time the stock market fell 1600 points this afternoon that I decided maybe it was good time to go take a bike ride.

And have some ice cream.

And definitely turn off the TV.

You would think with all the walking and praying I do—with all the time I spend in nature—with all the time I spend actively searching for God, that I would be better at avoiding the thousands of distractions hurled at us every day on our TVs and phones and computers.

But no, I often find myself trapped, just like everyone else, unable to look away from the news, unable to turn off the phone, mute the TV—even blink it seems some days.

Somehow today, I managed to wrench myself away from the news and take that bike ride, just a short little loop around my condo complex.  It was windy, which is nice when it’s at your back, but less so when you’re riding into it.

That’s way the world works though, isn’t it?

Some days the wind is at your back and some days it’s smacking you in the face.

You think God is with you one day and the next, He seems to have to turned from you completely.

But here’s the thing—the wind is just the wind.  It’s not for you or against you.

But God—God is always for you.

God always wants the best for you.

He never turns away.

This morning, I drove to the Wetlands only to find it closed again to cars, so I took out my bike even though I suspected that the sandy, silty road would be much too soft to ride comfortably on.

I was right.

My tires dug into the road.  My bike is just one speed so each turn of the wheel made my legs burn.  Rocks popped up in front of me.  The bike wobbled.  I tried the grass hoping it would be firmer, but instead the grass turned out to be better at only one thing:  deception—hiding sticks and shells and more rocks to try and trip me up.

And it was cloudy.

Ugh.

It was 8 am, though, and the deer at the Wetlands are perfectly punctual.  I slowed to a stop and watched them in the field across from the water.  They were so far away.  They are always so far away and yet they always seem to know when I’m watching. 

These are wild animals, often dirty, fur matted with stickers and twigs and grass.  They are lean, sometimes too lean, I worry, with ribs showing. 

They get distracted.

They get distracted by me, the crazy lady taking their picture every day.

They get distracted by the woman walking her dogs, by the cows in the nearby pasture—by an amorous buck chasing them full speed down the road.

But sometimes, I catch them, blissfully unaware of the world, lounging in the grass, eyes closed.

Do deer enjoy God-time too?

I think they must be much better than the rest of us at shutting out the world, at deciphering what’s truly worthy of attention.