I grew up near Winnipeg. It was difficult learning to ride a bike on our gravel road, but once I was competent I loved to ride up and down the road past all the acreages. Sun in my face, breeze in my hair, and fresh air in my lungs.
There was only one hitch to hamper my happy rides: a yappy, snappy dog who'd come barrelling out of his yard to chase me. He terrified me. He'd bark and snap at my wheels, my pedals, my feet.
Because of my terror, I'd lift my feet off the pedals. I'd get wobbly and lose my rhythm. But I quickly learned to channel the energy from my terror into the biggest meanest voice a little girl could muster, and holler, "Go Home!"
That's what Dad did when we rode the road together. Nothing seemed to frighten him. He'd just yell, "Go Home!" and keep pedalling. Eventually the dog would give up and go home.
I was thinking about that dog the other day as I began (again) to tackle my work in progress. There's been a mad dog biting at my heels as I try to work on this project. It's been trying to stop me in my tracks; to get the best of me. I've tried different ways to write the thing, but this yappy dog keeps taking away my focus. I'm losing my rhythm, getting wobbly, and it's terrifying me a little.
Maybe the answer is to keep pedalling, no matter what. Tell that distracting dog to GO HOME! I might feel a little wobbly as I continue, but continue I must.
Brenda J. Woods's words, shared here on the blog last week, struck me: What crazy thoughts attack you right now? You don't have to live there. That is not the way of God.
No, this yappy dog is NOT from God. So I need to tell it to go back to where it came from, shift my focus from the dog at my heels to the writing road God has asked me to travel.
Just keep pedalling.
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Feature photo by Jill Wellington of Pixabay
