Redirecting a wanderer

When we returned to the Denver area after our temporary exile to north central Wyoming, we arrived via an 18-month detour in Craig, Colo.

In Craig we acquired our first "boughten" home, a 1965, 12X65', three bedroom mobile home.

In returning to the Front Range we had to find a mobile home park that would accept a home of that vintage -- it was, by now, 1978 and many courts had age restrictions on mobile homes.

Thus began our 20-year "temporary" residency in Brighton, Colo. (In 1988 we purchased a home "without wheels" in town.)

The court where we lived was situated at the intersection of the Adams/Weld county line road and U.S. Highway 85. It was, even in 1978, a busy intersection, at the time, regulated only by stop signs on the county line road. Many times we could hear the squeal of brakes and we would freeze, holding our breath for the not-always inevitable sound of metal colliding and glass breaking.

That heart-stopping sound occurred with too much frequency and we treated the intersection with the respect it deserved. The speed limit was 55 in that day, which probably was about 15 mph faster than was safe at that intersection.

Ben turned three the summer we moved to Brighton and we soon discovered a hidden part of his character. He was afflicted with the "wanderlust."

We had our own little lot, with beautiful grass and trees, and keeping him inside on a nice day would have been cruel and unusual punishment. Prior to this we had lived in an apartment for a few transitory months and the lot in Craig where we had the trailer was rock-hard soil that wouldn't even support abundant weed growth. Consequently, he'd been kept indoors more than he liked.

He'd no sooner be out the door, than we'd begin looking for him. We took a lot of walks those days, the temptation of the open road, too much for Ben to withstand. We reminded him constantly to stay in the yard each time he ventured forth, using, when necessary, a well-placed reminder on his backside (preferring to inflict a modicum of pain in the present to prevent a lifetime of agony and grief in an unbearable future) when he would ignore our admonitions.

One spring afternoon, when Ben was nearly four, we no had sooner had turned our backs, then he was out of sight. Again.

I went one way, Danny went the other. Our lot was on an inside corner, and we knew his favorite routes, but Danny, as he made his way closer to the exit of the court, had no luck finding the quick-footed youngster. As he neared the county road, he had visions of reaching the highway and seeing nothing but a single, small, abandoned sneaker, all that was left (in his all too vivid imagination) of a friendly, happy, blond-haired, blue-eyed little boy.

In the meanwhile, I located the object of our pursuit and headed him back toward home. Our vigilance increased proportionate to the nightmare, lest the vision ever come true.

Once, and only once, when Ben was 8, he dared to cross the highway, in the company of a somewhat older boy, to visit the convenience store on the other side.

Danny, on his way home from work, spotted him there, and, coming into the house, immediately deferred the application of punishment to me, who hadn't seen the transgression and therefore would not be ruled by the same level of fear fueling his father's anger. (It has been my observation that men nearly always camouflage fear as anger.)

We remained in the court until Ben was nearly 13, with no further incidents and none of the same behaviors exhibited by his younger brother and sister, who were both born while we lived there and grew up fully understanding the rules.

How like Ben I am often found to be. Wandering here and there, close to danger without even being aware of the danger, or self-deceived that the danger, apparent to all, will not touch me, because I have some special immunity. This phenomenon is most common in adolescence, but is not unheard of in adult circles.

All manner of recognizably dangerous behaviors are manifest in the adult world of alcohol, drugs, sexual activity, thrill-seeking, speeding, and so on and infiltrates our young people's lives with increasing frequency.

All too often, I am that little wanderer. Each time I step away, the Father searches diligently for me. Sometimes, upon discovery, all I need is a gentle nudge to return me to my place in the fold. Other times, my foray has brought with it consequences intended to warn me from that destination forevermore.

Don't forget, if you lose your way, for a moment, a day or a decade, you are not forgotten. The pain in your heart or the thorn in your side is nothing more than a gentle -- or perhaps not so gentle -- nudge from your Shepherd.

"I myself will tend my sheep and have them lie down, declares the Sovereign Lord. I will search for the lost and bring back the strays, I will bind up the injured and strengthen the weak ..." Ezekiel 34:15, 16 (NIV)

-- Though Dawn ages at the same rate as everyone else, she understands that though wisdom often comes with age, unpracticed, it is also all too easily forgotten over time.