Meeting God

How it all got started for me almost forty years ago.

I stood alone in a field, smelling the late summer air all around me. I was stunned. Still. Four…maybe five years old.

I don’t remember if I knew it then or not, but I know it now:

I was meeting God.

The green, fertile, southern Missouri earth sloped gently downward from our house to what we called our backyard and on toward that field. I don’t recall the precise point of demarcation now, but it is reasonable to conclude that the yard stopped and the field began somewhere around Tasha’s house. Tasha was our dog. A blue heeler. She was a good dog. 

Everything was good back then.