This morning the geese brought their goslings to the water, and I could not stop smiling.
At once, I was transported back to childhood — to those early days of watching geese and ducks with my father as he asked me to describe what I saw. And here they were, teaching me again.
How sweet they were.
What struck me most was not only how darling they were, but how they were led.
The parents never made a sound.
They did not scatter or scold or rush the little ones into place. They simply moved, calmly and deliberately, to either side of the drifting cluster. Once the goslings were fully between them, both parents turned and faced forward. And the little ones, seeing the parents turn, turned too.
In a moment, what had looked like a loose gathering became a line:
one parent leading,
the other guarding from behind.
Watching them, I thought of the wilderness — of the God who goes before His people and behind them, who does not merely point the way from a distance, but surrounds, carries, and keeps them as they learn how to move together.
And then, watching those precious goslings paddling furiously to get into formation, getting wet, trying to keep up, I began to laugh to myself.
They made me think of the disciples.
I could suddenly see them on one of their many journeys with Jesus — jostling and bumping into one another, each eager to be closest to Him.
I could almost hear them:
“Hey! You were first in line yesterday. Today is my turn!”
“Wait! There’s a rock in my sandal!”
“Wait for me!”
“It’s so hot! Jesus, could You please turn the sun down just a touch?”
And perhaps Jesus kept walking — maybe a little more slowly now, smiling to Himself — and said something like,
“You think this is hot? You should have been with Moses in the wilderness for forty years. Now that was hot.”
Suddenly, they are all laughing.
But eventually, they too fall into formation — walking at an easier pace, following Jesus as He leads the way.
Perhaps that is how formation so often works.
We begin as a loose, eager, stumbling cluster — earnest, beloved, and not yet graceful. We paddle hard. We bump into one another. We try to be nearest.
But little by little, by staying within the quiet protection of the One who goes before us and behind us, we learn how to turn when He turns, how to follow when He leads, and how to move together in peace.
And this is grace:
that we do not have to begin graceful to be gathered.
We only have to remain near enough to learn. Near enough to turn when He turns. Near enough to trust the quiet leading of love.
We begin to realize that when we keep our focus on Him, we are learning how to be.
How to walk.
How to speak.
How to love.
How to live.
We are being formed.
Changed.
Step by step.
We watch and step.
Watch and step.
A long, faithful rhythm that grows us in the best way —
slowly.
Deeply.
And all the while, He is not only the One before us.
He is also the joy before us.
The One who, for the joy set before Him, endured the road ahead is the same One who teaches us how to keep pressing forward — not by panic, not by striving, but by love, by nearness, by faithful attention.
How comforting it is that we do not have to master the journey, only remain near enough to be led.
To keep our eyes on the One who goes before us and behind us.
To watch and step.
And to trust that even now, we are being led into peace.
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Thank you for reading.
May you be gently led into peace.
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© Gilda Wray. All rights reserved.
Gilda, this is gorgeous. "The One who goes before His people and behind them" put me straight back into Exodus — the pillar of cloud ahead, the rearguard behind, Isaiah picking up the same image centuries later. You've drawn discipleship right out of that old promise without ever stating it outright, which is the harder and better way to do it.
And the disciples bickering over sandals and sun while still, somehow, falling back into step — there's real truth in that. Following has never required us to stop being human first.
"We do not have to begin graceful to be gathered" is the line I'll be carrying around for a while. Thank you for this.
Well said and quite relatable to my experience of formation.