When The Landscape Changes

an essay

Photo by Tabea Schimpf on Unsplash

If you’ve been here for any length of time, you might know that we have a dog. Finn is a three-year-old, half-Bernese half-Goldendoodle, 90-pound ball of fluff, love, and sass.

Finn is a smart dog. And Finn hates change.

I know that many dogs are routine-oriented, but Finn is happiest when his days are completely identical. If one thing shifts, he notices, and he does not approve. He lives his life according to a specific protocol, and anything more or less is drama.

Since we work from home, we are mostly able to keep this consistency for him. Mealtimes, naptimes, exercise, play…all around the same times in the day. The schedule suits us all.

But life is life. And life does not reliably stay the same.

This week, our yard had grown unruly and was in desperate need of a trim. So my husband and I spent some time moving things around, clearing the way for the lawnmower and weedwhacker.

Finn did not approve. He watched us move brush and sticks with horror. He chased after his landmarks, dumbfounded. He sniffed the spaces where the changes had occurred, curious and disbelieving.

In those moments, no matter how much he trusts us—and he does—there’s a glimmer of doubt. Of uncertainty.

Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

I’ll tell you this much: my life’s landscape has never been a static thing. Neither has yours, I’ll wager. Peaks, valleys, bridge washouts, detours, endless forests, lush gardens, bright days, dark nights…our travels take us through every ecosystem imaginable. And when one rolls into the other, it can be tempting to doubt the road, the map, the Navigator. Our own two feet.

Are you sure you know what you’re doing?

Doubt is natural when we don’t have the whole picture. And we don’t. We never do. At best, we can only see the path a few feet in front of us.

Finn doesn’t know that maintaining the yard in a responsible way is healthiest for all of us, and for the plants and animals we steward here. He just knows that something changed. We are the ones who see the whole board.

In the end, he may have his doubts, but he’ll trust us. And all will be well. The yard will flourish, the seasons ahead will be healthier, and we will all be grateful for the change. Even Finn, eventually, though he doesn’t know it yet. Though today it all feels doubtful.

When the landscape changes, we may pause in doubt. Survey where we’ve landed. Question the road, the map, the Navigator. Our own two feet.

But in the end, He alone sees the whole board. He alone knows what’s next.

We take the hands of both Doubt and Trust. We move forward. And all will be well.

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