“I will walk among you and be your God, and you shall be My people.”—Leviticus 26:12 (NKJV)

It’s mid-afternoon and I need to take stuff down to the compost pile. As I come out the porch door onto the deck, the farm cats that happen to be close to home, lazing around instead of out exploring, come trotting to see if I’m bringing food. Seeing no bag or can, they look away. Until, that is, I start down the hill. Then they follow. It’s been that way for many years now. When I stop at the compost pile, they look up as if to say, “Is that it? Aren’t we going on a walk?”

So we do. Down the grassy hill. Onto the trails I’ve made and mowed. Through the woods. Me and the cats. Sometimes they’re a short distance back or ahead. Sometimes, especially Gracie or Ebony, they wind between my feet as I stride. If I stop, they want me to pick them up and give them some attention. They walk with me until . . . until they don’t, their attention diverted by sighting a mouse or chipmunk or other prey. Then they’re off.

I’d be disappointed, except I know it will happen almost every time we walk.

I wonder if that’s how God deals with my following in this way—wishing I’d stick closer but knowing that I’m prone to wander. Yes, sometimes I’m right there, walking alongside the Great Lover of my soul and listening and learning. Other times, though, I’m at a distance, distracted by some new sparkly thing or another. Occasionally, I just want to be left alone to ramble—but still know that I’m being watched over. And, because God loves me, I am.