The Whistler

I sat in a park eating my lunch this week.

There was a man in the middle of the field, whistling.

Fifteen minutes of whistling.

Just whistling.

Rooted to the same spot.

After fifteen minutes, by which time I had confirmed that I should classify this gentleman as absolutely loopy, a dog burst through from some nearby bushes and hurtled at great speed towards the whistling man.

Then the man and the dog walked on together.

I don't like drawing spiritual parallels with regards to dogs, but I wonder how often, like that dog, I am ignoring God's calls to me to go where He is.

I like to think that recently I've been on a burst of increased fervour with regards to my relationship with God.

But maybe He's been asking me to be there with Him for ages, and my recent progress is actually the equivilent of that dog suddenly realising that the whistle was aimed at him and that he needed to move fast. That what is progress for me is just getting to where I was supposed to be all along, if I had been listening to the call.