A Call over Dead Fish

I never thought I’d be stepping over dead fish to find my way home. Yet here I am in the city by the James, carefully avoiding fish carcasses on the sidewalk. The stench is worth it if only for the glimpses of cranes stalking the shallows and hawks being blasted up by warm air. Driving in air conditioning has its advantages, but sometimes you have to plow through oppressive heat to get to such moments—and that’s exactly where God met me.

Funny where God chooses to call people. Moses went out to stare at sheep, something he’d done many times before. I like to think he sighed and leaned on his staff right before God showed up in a blazing dance. It’s interesting to me that the Lord had previously called Abram with a simple phrase. There’s no light show, no fireworks. He simply tells the man to go, and Abram goes. Moses needed more convincing. And God obliged.

I’d like to claim that I’m more Abram (Abraham), but I suspect Moses is more likely the truth. I’ve always needed clear convincing for what I consider the “big” things. When God leads, I want to know why, when, and how. (And I throw in excuses to complete the imitation—sans the whole stick-to-snake thing.) But who am I to need to know the details?

God knows, and that should be enough for me. It’s not, but it should be. If He indicates the destination, my only responses should be to praise and accept and allow Him to work. Too often I take stock of where I am and what I like about it—and then I dig a trench, fill it with water, and ask Him to move me “if it’s His will.”

Somewhere while playing hopscotch over dead fish, His call whispered in. I have no idea how the end result will come, but this time, I’m resolved not to care. Instead, I simply want to record what He does, how He does it, and point all of this to Him.

If I’m right, the journey should be incredible.


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