As I set out for my morning walk, the thin line of red in the east catches my eye as it comes and goes between the houses I pass, slowly brightening the sky above me.  I don’t mind starting out so early. When it’s so still and quiet, most people still in bed, is the perfect time to reflect, begin my day with some much needed exercise and space for my mind to wake up. Dealing with the human race first thing in the morning puts me in a bad mood at the start. Although I know these walks are good for my body, they are also very therapeutic for me.

The last few mornings, ever since my encounter with that woman from work, Tia, my mind insists on rehashing the stupid things she said to me. This morning I push it away, determined to forget about the ridiculous rhetoric of a religious nut. I try not to dread the coming day and the slight chance Tia might accost me in the staff room again. My attempts at avoiding her since have been successful so far but there’s always a slim possibility that she might start at me again and I am determined not to give her the opportunity.

Leaving my neighborhood behind, I head down a gravel road to an area that I love; my view a panorama of rolling hills, bare fields and sporadic trees silhouetted against the rising light. With the eastern horizon now in full view, the sunrise is spectacular in the clear sky, I’m tempted to get out my cell phone for another picture but I have so many already that there’s really no sense. The subdivision where I live is on the outskirts of the city and beyond that is undeveloped, farming country. It’s like walking in a park every morning and I love it, and thankfully my mind has stayed clear of wandering to the altercation of a few days ago. I actually feel a semblance of peace as I keep up my steady pace.

Peace. It’s an abstract concept really. What actually is peace? Isn’t it just the absence of confrontation, anxiety and trouble? If that truly is the definition, then what I’m feeling this morning is exactly that, peace. I just wish this emotion was easier to come by and as effortless to keep. It’s such an elusive thing and so hard to hold on to. I’ve had so little of it in my life.

I basically blame my upbringing and all the chaos in my life since; my dad abandoning us, my mom’s addictions, my failed relationships and my son who can’t seem to forgive me. According to his take on things, it’s my fault that his dad didn’t stick around. His anger is getting worse and I don’t know what to do. He’s only ten but his uncontrollable rage terrifies me. Thinking of him becoming a teenager causes my heart to race insanely, my whole body to shake and I break out in a sweat at the most inopportune times. I don’t want to think about that this morning. If I allow my mind that privilege my peace will evaporate in an instant. Shoving it all away, into a dark place where I seldom go anymore, is easier. Self-control is what I call it; it’s one of my strong traits. Ignoring my problems makes it easier for me to cope.

So, this morning I walk and think of nothing. Relief floods me as I’m given this rare opportunity, quietness for my mind. The sky slowly brightens and I’m thankful for the beauty that surrounds me. My walks early in the morning fuel me and prepare me for another hectic day at work. Doing without these therapeutic jaunts would be like a heroine addict doing without his fix or an alcoholic without their drink. It would make me come undone; unglue me in the worst way. My mind is shifting to the horrible possibilities and I don’t like it.

Life has a way of forcing one’s hand and my life has definitely forced mine. One way of staying sane, of coping, is these daily forays into the country back roads and allowing nature to calm my anxious thoughts. I hate to think where I’d be without them. Maybe an insane asylum would be my home sweet home. I chuckle at that thought but it’s a nervous sound, even to my ears and mine are the only ears around at this time of day.

Terry, my son, my ten-year-old son, is still asleep. I’ll wake him when I get back home and take him to school on my way to work. When he’s sleeping is the only time he seems to be unperturbed and placid, and it’s the only sliver of each day that I actually like him. Like sandpaper against sandpaper, that’s how I’d describe our relationship. One thing I’ve become convinced of and that is that he hates me. But here I go again, letting my mind go to the trouble in my life. I have to stop this if I’m to maintain the small illusion of peace I felt when I first started my walk.

Some movement up ahead catches my eye and I slow, wondering who else would be up this early, walking my piece of road with me. That’s how I see it, my road. I’ve taken ownership of it because I never see anyone else out during my treks. There, I see it again. Something or someone is on the road ahead of me but there’s not a lot of motion.

Taking a few tentative steps forward, I see the object move but I notice that it’s not coming toward me but it’s shifted to the centre of the road, like it’s crossing over. Then, with the eastern light illuminating the thing in silhouette, I realize what it is I’m looking at. It’s a deer.

What a joy! I’ve never encountered a deer this close. It’s not far ahead and I realize that if I pick up my pace I could get a real close up view. Hurrying now, I’m concerned that my footsteps will scare it away and yet I notice that the deer is still ambling across the road with no awareness that I’m getting so near. A few more steps and I could potentially get an epic picture of a white tailed deer. If only the lighting was better.

Only steps away now and still the dear senses no fear. The animal is on the left side now, almost directly beside me, and stops as though waiting for something. Hearing noise to my right, I stop, turn and, to my shock, see two more deer heading across right in front me. One stops, turns its head to look at me, close enough that I’m sure I could reach out and touch it, and seems to look right into my soul. The deep amber hue in its eyes does something to me, touches something hidden deep inside, and brings back a conversation I thought I’d effectively pushed away. Slowly, the animal turns and keeps walking. Watching it leave, its white tail moving gently as it saunters away, I hear noise to my right and turn to look. To my surprise, two fawns jump out of the long grass in the ditch and scurry across to join the doe on the other side.

As the group walks through the ditch and heads off onto the field adjacent to it, I feel overcome by what the sight of them has elicited in me. Thoughts of Tia are now uppermost in my mind and my peace has completely evaporated, not something I thought would happen with seeing such beautiful, graceful creatures. As I walk on, I silently curse them for crossing my path this morning.

Tia’s words from a few days ago sound off in my mind like a trumpet blast; not that welcome in the morning, at least in my morning.

What she said was, “As the deer gets thirsty for streams of water, I truly am thirsty for you, my God.”  She’d looked at me then, a strange expression on her face and said, “We were created to long after God. He’s the one who has made us and He’s the only one that can fulfill us. It’s thirst for God that drives humanity. Life will never make sense without God in the picture. A lot of people try to make it without Him and peace remains evasive. He’s the only source of peace.” Tia cocked her head, the look in her eyes mesmerizing, smiled oddly and continued. “I can see that you’re hurting; it shines from your eyes. God loves you and He wants to help you. He’s the only one that can. He’s the only one who can give you peace that will last.”

I never should have said what I did that day that evoked that response from her, standing at the coffee machine getting my fix of java. We’d never really crossed paths before, not like that anyway. She was in the room when I voiced the off-hand comment I made that didn’t require an answer. That fact didn’t seem to dawn on her and she dumped her religious opinion on me without asking permission.

What I said, while I was pouring my coffee, was, “I wish this caffeine fix would do more than just quench my thirst. Be nice if it would fix everything in my life.” Now, did that comment really need an answer? It makes me mad just thinking about it.

Picking up my pace, probably due to anger now rolling in my gut, I get to my goal, turn, and head back home. Religion never helped anyone, ever!

But I can’t shake her words. They’ve become like bullhorns, loud and insensitive, refusing me any semblance of solitude. I start to wonder if there’s any truth in what she said to me. Could God give me peace? Did He possess peace? Is that where it’s found? These thoughts and questions are new for me. I’ve never considered God as the source of peace. And do people really thirst after God? I chuckle at that thought. It all seems so bizarre.

Fixing my life would take more than just a pie-in-the-sky kind of mentality. That’s how I see God and religion. How could a ‘god’ repair the damage done by a dysfunctional upbringing and the relational devastation left behind of multiple divorces? Although, the counseling I’ve endured hasn’t helped any either. Counselors, even those with the best intentions, haven’t begun to heal the damage in my soul. The state of my son’s inner turmoil also attests to psychotherapist’s limitations. I’ve come to the realization that they’re not miracle workers. Years of therapy haven’t made a dent in my troubled life. I’m still as confused as ever and wonder if I’ll ever have a good grasp on reality and experience any semblance of lasting serenity.

But Tia’s words won’t leave me now; they hound me as I walk home, like a dog tight at my heels. Her claims of peace intrigue me. What if she’s right? What if seeking after God is the only way to peace? Thoughts of the group of deer come back to me and I wonder if there’s more to it than just coincidence. If there is a God, is He trying to get my attention?

After Tia said what she did, me just standing there open-mouthed, not knowing how to respond, she’d said something else. “I’ll be praying for you. I’ll ask God to reveal Himself to you.” Her smile was unnerving.

I said, “Don’t bother.”

“It’s no bother. I talk to Him all the time. He’s my best friend.”

At that point I’d made a derogatory sound through tight lips, tried to show her how stupid she sounded. How can God be a friend? It sounded so ridiculous and out of touch with reality.

But now, my neighborhood just ahead, the sky in the east a virtual painting of bright hues, I can’t stop thinking of her words. The hope in them drives me toward desire. To think that, just maybe, I could have peace on a constant basis was revelatory. The possibility that something I’d strived for my whole life was actually attainable rock my world view, my intellect.

Hitting the paved section of my subdivision, the last bit before I get home and have to face my son, I utter the first words to a God I don’t really believe in. But maybe…?

“God, if you’re there, if you’re real, can you please help me? My life is so messed up and I’m so tired of trying to fix things. Nothing’s working. If you’re real and you love me, like Tia claims you do, help me.”

That’s all I can think to say and all the time I have. I turn the key in the door, open it wide and walk inside. Hope begins to invade and the thought that maybe things will start to change.