Yesterday morning, Christmas morning all misty and mellow, I walked early with Colt, the Labrador.

It was early, phone in my pocket and no pods in my ears, the world was whispering like sounds from a distant violin.

It was not noisy.

The birds sang, the trees ready for rain, rustled.

As a walk often does I was walking to unravel my thoughts, to shake off the embrace that had decided to grab hold, the worry for no reason, the sneaky attempts of changing my hope to dread.

The ways we walk, have walked in our lives…some of us, for most of our days left deep and muddy almost cavernous ruts we gotta decide to step up high and get on a new, undamaged by weather road.

I consider myself late to this learning.

That’s okay.

There’s grace for late in life learning and even more than that, there’s glorious celebration.

A few days ago, it occurred to me that I so less often “thank Jesus for helping me” than I do plead and moan consistently, “Jesus, help me. Jesus, help me!”

And I sort of quietly decided with tears to simply change the wording.

“Thank you, Jesus, for helping me.”

and so I said this on my walk along with the acceptance of “I am weak, you are strong”.

I don’t want to speak too soon (as I’m prone to do) but there’s a change that’s been coming in me and for me and I’m welcoming the newness of it.

The life lived from an embrace of the truth of being RESCUED.

“Jesus, thank you for helping me.”

This prayer can be yours too.