I Promise I Won't Write About My Dog
.....anymore after this.
Having a dog can be a way to have some spiritual lessons rehearsed for you.
1. Our dog ran away as soon as we brought him home. He came back after an hour. I did pray for God to send him back. I felt stupid praying for that. However, in the Sermon on the Mount Jesus points out that God, in charge of the universe, cares about the fall of a sparrow, a tiny bird. So it's not wrong to pray for everything, including the dog to come back (as long as we don't stupidly let him go again!). That being said, I was thinking about how narrow our prayer life is. We pray about our own concerns but not the world's. So I feel silly praying about my dog when millions of people in Haiti suffer, and over 200,000 died. Am I thinking God doesn't care about them? Why do those things happen? The floods in Pakistan, the tsunami in Indonesia? It's good to be able to trust God about a personal problem, but the fault of Christian theology today is that personal problem, not the big picture and the needs of the world, are the focus of our faith.
2. When he came back, it was like the prodigal son. I even ran into the house and got some roast beef lunch meat to coax him back. (killed the fatted calf?) The ability of dogs to find things is amazing, and he is a hound dog, essentially, with a great sense of smell (and a great desire to spray every thing he can find, thankfully outside).
3. A dog must first learn to trust the owner before obedience can come. Yes, we can get obedience out of fear, but trust is better. What a lesson to remember. In my former Christian life obedience was all; if trust was there, so much the better, but if not, obedience reigned. Now I know (and the dog reminded me) that obedience without trust is not really obedience, and trust without obedience is not really trust.
4. Dogs are just plain cool. I often say, God's three coolest animals are horses, elephants, and dogs. Number four would be bears, but the first three get along much better with humans. Dogs have their own kind of intelligence. I know the dog just sees my husband and me as the master of pack, and I don't believe they have emotions. But they have an amazing loyalty and pick our spirits up.
5. There is an old story, probably apocryphal, about how an old "native American" man explains spiritual living. "I have two dogs that are fighting inside me." Which one wins? he was asked. "The one I feed." There is some truth to that; we must feed our spiritual selves to expect readiness and victory in spiritual battles. But ultimately the stronger side comes from grace, not our own efforts.
This is the end of my reflection on dogs. All things considered, though, I'd rather have another child.
Having a dog can be a way to have some spiritual lessons rehearsed for you.
1. Our dog ran away as soon as we brought him home. He came back after an hour. I did pray for God to send him back. I felt stupid praying for that. However, in the Sermon on the Mount Jesus points out that God, in charge of the universe, cares about the fall of a sparrow, a tiny bird. So it's not wrong to pray for everything, including the dog to come back (as long as we don't stupidly let him go again!). That being said, I was thinking about how narrow our prayer life is. We pray about our own concerns but not the world's. So I feel silly praying about my dog when millions of people in Haiti suffer, and over 200,000 died. Am I thinking God doesn't care about them? Why do those things happen? The floods in Pakistan, the tsunami in Indonesia? It's good to be able to trust God about a personal problem, but the fault of Christian theology today is that personal problem, not the big picture and the needs of the world, are the focus of our faith.
2. When he came back, it was like the prodigal son. I even ran into the house and got some roast beef lunch meat to coax him back. (killed the fatted calf?) The ability of dogs to find things is amazing, and he is a hound dog, essentially, with a great sense of smell (and a great desire to spray every thing he can find, thankfully outside).
3. A dog must first learn to trust the owner before obedience can come. Yes, we can get obedience out of fear, but trust is better. What a lesson to remember. In my former Christian life obedience was all; if trust was there, so much the better, but if not, obedience reigned. Now I know (and the dog reminded me) that obedience without trust is not really obedience, and trust without obedience is not really trust.
4. Dogs are just plain cool. I often say, God's three coolest animals are horses, elephants, and dogs. Number four would be bears, but the first three get along much better with humans. Dogs have their own kind of intelligence. I know the dog just sees my husband and me as the master of pack, and I don't believe they have emotions. But they have an amazing loyalty and pick our spirits up.
5. There is an old story, probably apocryphal, about how an old "native American" man explains spiritual living. "I have two dogs that are fighting inside me." Which one wins? he was asked. "The one I feed." There is some truth to that; we must feed our spiritual selves to expect readiness and victory in spiritual battles. But ultimately the stronger side comes from grace, not our own efforts.
This is the end of my reflection on dogs. All things considered, though, I'd rather have another child.
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