Mansfield Times

From March 12, 2023 post.

Every Sunday morning, in the summer of 2004, the three of us, two pups and me, with blanket and Bible, would hike to Freer field to search the scriptures and commune with God. The dogs were so excited for our time together; their tails wagged all the way to the field and then they would plop down on the blanket and lay their huge heads on my legs. This was such a happy time. I was totally free to talk to and listen to God. No one was around to betray me, judge me, manipulate me, or humiliate me. This was an unconventional, yet simple time to enjoy my God’s unconditional love.

Many weeks later, I would learn that sitting in a cell behind barred windows, in a nearby detention center was an older teenager who had been expelled from every school system in the County. Little were we aware that we were being observed from those basement windows. Apparently, the boy had been watching our every movement and had intentionally focused on our Sunday ritual.  He had begun to understand—to know my heart. He had been watching us on some of the darkest days of my life. H saw how important my dogs were to me, and wondered what I was reading and Who I was talking to.

Even though the sky was a brilliant blue and the birds were happily perched and chattering in the pine trees, I had a gnawing feeling we were being watched. I tried not to worry, to forget about what I didn’t get done yesterday or what I had to accomplish tomorrow. What if at this very moment we were in harm’s way? Breathe. Breathe. I needed to remember that it’s not the number of breaths I take that give me life. It’s then number of moments that take my breath away that matters the most.

I focused on the out-of-doors fragrances, listened to the sounds of summer, watched the white fluffy clouds float by, snuggled with my dogs and prayed. The amazing gift of peace empowered me and the three of us safely napped. Much later, we left the field knowing we would return with blanket and Bible the very next Sunday.