When the Call of the Wild Gets to Me

Last night, the call of the wild really got to me. It sounded like a squeal at times. Then it was a steady hum. Then it sounded like a zipper falling down.

It sounded like a pile of laundry baskets hitting the floor. Like the sound of metal whisking across the closet while I searched desperately for something that fit. It sounded like all the voices in my head screaming at once.

And then there was Mogli, “A huh, huh, huh.” The tired cry of the man cub. The needless shushing of his mother followed by, “Can you give me just a minute? I know you need me.”

Does your wilderness ever resemble that avalanche of needs? Is your response frustration or grace?

Mine was frustration until The Lord sent me some grace in the form of my protector, partner and best friend. He calmed the she wolf ready to snarl and cause unnecessary damage to the man cub. He reminded me what’s important.

The man cub needed me and I needed rest.

He knew the call of the wild was my introvert needing a time out. He knew I was letting the wolf cries of my self-doubt cloud out the cries of my child. He knew that the best way to shut out the wilderness was hibernation. He was right (as usual).

The call of the wild is always there ready to pounce like a stealth black panther. We just need to depend on our lookouts to protect us.