When I Forgot Who Was in Control — I Remembered the God of Wonders

Every morning—every day, 365 days a year without fail—I walk my Doberman, my constant “Velcro” companion, Cheyenne. (Or maybe I should say she walks me.)

It started as routine, to allow her to potty but evolved into a much-needed break, a breath, a little movement. A daily reset.

But it’s become sacred time now.  A time of personal worship and conversation with Jesus.

As most of the world still sleeps, except for all of the cotton-tailed rabbits prancing all around us, Cheyenne and I walk in solitude and relative quiet.  To the West, the Rockies stand tall—rugged, majestic, unmoving. And to the East, I witness some of the most magnificent sunrises imaginable—flames of orange, gold, and lavender streaking the sky like a private masterpiece.

I can’t help but think of God.

It’s one of the reasons I love living in Colorado. A quiet gift Vera left me—one of many. Even in her fading, she gave me this: A place where my soul could breathe again.

My walks have become my personal time of worship, every single morning—not just inside a sanctuary on Sundays but beneath the sky.

Worship Recalibrates the Soul

When I walk and talk with Jesus, I’m not escaping.
I’m realigning.
I’m stepping out of the chaos of caregiving…
And stepping into the presence of the Creator who sees it all.  It’s our time—without interruptions.

That doesn’t erase the pain.
But it anchors me in something eternal.

There are many days I awake feeling buried.
By grief. By exhaustion. By fear of what today might look like. And I just want to pull the blanket up over my head and surrender to sleep.

But then, I pop up, get dressed and take that first step outside…

When the air is crisp and quiet,
When creation surrounds me with beauty and peace —

And I’m greeted by the magnificence of the brightly illuminated Rocky Mountains.                                       

I can’t help but think of God.

There’s something about the mountains that humbles you.
It reminds you:
I’m not in control.
I never was.
But the One who set those mountains in place? He is.

Suddenly, I’m not alone anymore.
Suddenly, the weight lifts — just a little. 

Suddenly, I remember:
This isn’t all on me.
I wasn’t meant to carry it alone.
And I serve a God who still moves stars and mountains.

And that’s when I hear the words rise up in my spirit:

“God of wonders beyond our galaxy… You are holy, holy…”
— Third Day, “God of Wonders”