That’s the Life I Want

It all started several years ago. And it was so subtle I hardly even noticed at first. I grew up in a family that valued dogs (pets in general), but they definitely had their place; and it wasn’t in the house. Our German Shepherd, our Collie, the calico cat, and all the others hold very sweet memories. But we knew their place, and they knew their place; and it wasn’t in the house. So what I’m saying is: They weren’t in the house. Period. The only time I ever recall bringing a pet in the house was in the blizzard of 1978, and even then, he had to go to the basement.

Then we had Molly and she changed everything. Oh my gosh we loved her! A beautiful, black lab with the most incredible disposition and enough love for everyone who came through the door. I grumbled on a regular basis about the time I spent sweeping the floor, the couch cushions, the baseboards, and everything in between. Her fur was everywhere all the time. But we loved her. So I just kept grumbling while I swept over and over and over again. And then I hugged her as she snuggled with me on the couch. That’s where it all started.

Next came Mack. He was a story I never wanted to live or tell. Yes, he was just another dog. But he was very much like Molly. He developed allergies to food as a puppy and we had to put him down before he was a year old. That was easier said than done.

A few years of doggie hiatus and I had a weak moment. Kenny had been wearing me down asking for a dog; specifically a German Shepherd. And he wanted this dog to be IN THE HOUSE. Listen, we’ve already established that I love my doggies. But a German Shepherd in the house? No way! Not a chance. Ain’t gonna happen. Sorry, Kenny. I love you, but I’m drawing a very clear line.

I had started doing a bit of research to see if there were any short-haired dogs that he might be happy with. I could probably deal with that. I’m not beyond a little compromise. And there they were. The most gorgeous dogs; the German Short-Haired Pointer. It didn’t take long.

I found a local breeder recommended by a friend and decided to go see the litter that was looking for permanent homes. It was love at first sight. No exaggeration. I instantly lost the ability to make any kind of rational decision. And without even a dog crate or a food bowl, we brought Ruger home with us. It was the most fun and grueling couple of months ever. It was like having a toddler in the house again (other than the fact that you can crate a dog). There were sleepless nights. Endless hours of going in and out trying to potty train. I lost pillows and blankets and a handful of other items. But he was just so cute that he even ended up in bed with us. How in the world did I get to this place?

Less than a year after Ruger, mom had another litter and we decided Ruger needed someone else to impose his affections on: Enter Remington. (Some of you see a theme here.) For the most part, Ruger was Kenny’s dog and Remington was mine. They both exert so much energy every day that it’s challenging to keep them at a healthy weight. Life with them is literally non-stop. Until it isn’t. The first time we sit in a recliner or on the couch for the evening, it’s over. Nothing else matters. It’s time to sit in the lap of the human and just be still. To be as close as possible.

The parallel seems obvious. It struck me so quickly. God wants me to simply sit with Him. No performance. No impressive words. Enjoy the peace. Embrace the comfort. Is that possible? Are you able to just sit there with your thoughts? Can you trust Him to handle them? Will you let Him just hold you closely? So closely that you feel safe enough to fall asleep?

I’ve been a doer all of my life. But I’m finally figuring out that doing isn’t always the answer. Being. That’s the answer. Even my pups have figured that out. Resting. That’s the answer. They’ve figured that part out, too.

Matthew 11:28 ~ Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.