In our house, we no longer say the word walk. Instead, we say things like meander. Or take a casual lap. Sometimes it’s a hop, skip, and a jump, said in the most nonchalant voice possible because the second the actual word ‘walk’ is spoken, our dog completely unravels.
His ears go up, his body stiffens and his eyes locked on mine. He paces between me and the door, whimpering in barely controlled enthusiasm. All he wants is to get outside, and all his energy is focused on accomplishing it.
What our dog doesn’t know is that walks come with risk. He doesn’t understand traffic. He doesn’t think about coyotes. He has no concept of how quickly a peaceful trail can turn dangerous. All he knows is that adventure is waiting on the other side of that word.
The trails near our home are beautiful and I love to walk them. They’re peaceful and quiet and perfect for clearing your head. But they’re also home to animals that roam at dusk. Most of the time, I don’t see them. I only hear about them in warnings posted online with updates and reminders to be careful. Danger is like that. It’s not always obvious, but it’s real.
Peter gives us a similar warning:
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. (1 Peter 5:8)
A prowling lion is not subtle language. Still, I step into my day confident, distracted, and not particularly watchful. I underestimate spiritual danger because I can’t physically see it. I assume I’m fine until temptation feels reasonable and fear gets louder than truth.
But here’s the comfort: God sees what I don’t.
I leash my dog when we walk not because I want to limit his joy but because I want to protect him from the dangers he doesn’t see. In a similar way, God protects me through His Word, through conviction, boundaries I don’t always understand, and nudges that say, Not that way. Stay close.
It isn’t restriction. It’s protection.
The safest place for my dog is tethered to me on the trail. The safest place for me is tethered to God, and I don’t need to understand every spiritual danger to trust the One who does.
So today, I’m asking myself: Will I stay close? Will I let God guide me, even when I don’t see the risk? Will I trust that His nearness is not limiting but life-giving? Will you?
Because the walk really is richer, steadier, and far safer when we stay near the One who sees the whole trail.