These are pictures of my babies: Pepper (Cocker Spaniel) is in the witch hat. Ariel (Cavalier King Charles Spaniel) is the bunny (yes, I am one of those people who dresses her pets...but only on special occassions!!!). The other picture is Ariel sleeping...look at her little tongue hanging out. How cute is she?!!!
Some important life lessons that my dogs have taught me:
Don’t be afraid to be who you are:
Dogs don’t care how uncouth or inappropriate they are. They don’t pay attention to what others think about them. They do not change who they are based on a critic’s comments or opinions. If they want to sniff another dog’s butt, they do it no matter how disgusting it looks. When they relax, they stretch out their whole bodies, let their tongues hang out, snore and drool. They clean themselves while you try to eat dinner. Then they want to kiss you. In my house, if the dogs want to kiss you, they do it whether you want them to or not. True, dogs are not the best role model for boundaries, but we could learn from their freewheeling lack of inhibition. I find that I struggle with trying to please people. As a pastor, I have found that is an impossibility. You can do your best, and still someone will not like it or think you should have done it their way. That’s just life, I think. I always say that ministry would be a lot easier if it weren’t for all these people!! (but I do love these people!!!) Learning to just be who I am and make the best choices I can is a constant battle. No one wants people to be upset with them, but you can’t live your life trying to make everyone happy. You just have to be who you are. St. Irenaeus said, “The glory of God is a human being fully alive”. Perhaps we miss out on “fully alive” because we fail be fully ourselves. We could take lessons from the dogs. So, if you feel like sniffing some butts, sniff with vigor and who cares what people say (I do mean that in the most figurative of ways).
Love like you will never be hurt:
My dogs are completely indiscriminate about showing off their bellies. If you have hands for petting, they roll over to receive your affection. When we are on a walk, we must sniff every other dog we encounter, chase every squirrel we see, bark at every bird who dares cross our path, and force every child within two miles to play with us. I watch how free my dogs are with their love and affection, and think of how hard it is for me to be vulnerable or to open myself up to the world. The longer I live, it’s easier to be scared of getting hurt. The more you get hurt, the more determined you become to never get hurt again. Not my dogs. One of them, Ariel, has never known anything but absolute pampering. The worst hurt she has experienced is when I move and wake her up before she is finished with her nap. But Pepper, my cocker spaniel, is a rescue dog. I don’t know that much about her past, but I know she was ignored—perhaps even abused. She was dropped off at a high kill shelter and left to die. I got Pepper from a lady who rescues dogs from high kill shelters. Poor Pepper has been tossed around and neglected, and now she has to put up with little Ariel tormenting her on a daily basis. She would have reason to stop letting people close. Still, Pepper wags her little tail at any person who walks by. The neighborhood kids ring my doorbell on a regular basis to play with both dogs, but especially Pepper. Pepper runs up and down the street with them until the kids are ready to pass out and Pepper is just getting started. Dogs remind us of what we miss out on by being so guarded. They live in a world of no strangers. We might experience life more fully if we, too, were less afraid to share our soft underbellies with the world.
Forgiveness means really letting it go:
I’ll be honest and admit that my dogs have a mischievous side. They get into trouble. As evolved as I am, I sometimes yell at them. More than that, I sometimes step on them. That, of course, is accidental. But when two little furry things constantly follow on your heels, it is hard not to trip over them on occasion. The thing is, no matter what I do or say, they still love me. They want to be near me. I can scold one of them for being bad, and the next second, that dog is right there, begging to be petted, gazing at me with adoration, wanting to kiss me. Being human, I know how easy it is to hold grudges, to walk on eggshells around people who have hurt us. Not a dog. A dog doesn’t hold grudges. A dog is all about love. I have learned more about God’s forgiveness and unconditional love from my dogs than just about anything else. I tend to beat myself up for mistakes—and wonder how God can still love me when I mess up so much. But then I look at my dogs, and think I have gotten it all wrong…that I need to learn how to forgive and really let it go (not just in regard to other people, but also for myself). I realize that God is a dog in this analogy, but Jesus compares himself to a chicken in Scripture, so I think I am safe.
Loving God means adoring God:
My dogs think that I hung the moon in the sky. They watch me constantly. When I stand up, they stand up. When I go into another room, they go into another room. There is no thing they love more than to be in my presence. Nothing else—not even Snausages—comes close to comparing with me, at least in their world. If one of the dogs gets in trouble, they look devastated at my disapproval. The whole world stops until our relationship is made right again. It makes me think about Jesus, how He says that life is supposed to be about loving God first and loving others as we love ourselves. The more I think about it, I think God wants us to love Him like dogs love us. It isn’t about always being perfect or about acting holy. It is about a relationship with God, it is about making Him our absolute priority. I will be the first to admit that I don’t love God as well as my dogs love me. I do at times, in moments, but not constantly. I don’t always long to be near Him, to just be in His presence. I get busy; other priorities crowd in. When I have really failed myself—and God—the passion of my heart should be righting that relationship; it should be the goal of my life to let nothing crowd Him out of center. I want to love God the way my dogs love me. I want my whole life to center on His activity. When God is on the move, I want to go with Him…not just wait and play it safe, or check my calendar to see when I have time to schedule Him into the mix. My dogs’ greatest joy is my presence. I think we will only get this loving God thing right when our greatest joy is to be in His presence every moment of our lives.
Don’t be afraid to be who you are:
Dogs don’t care how uncouth or inappropriate they are. They don’t pay attention to what others think about them. They do not change who they are based on a critic’s comments or opinions. If they want to sniff another dog’s butt, they do it no matter how disgusting it looks. When they relax, they stretch out their whole bodies, let their tongues hang out, snore and drool. They clean themselves while you try to eat dinner. Then they want to kiss you. In my house, if the dogs want to kiss you, they do it whether you want them to or not. True, dogs are not the best role model for boundaries, but we could learn from their freewheeling lack of inhibition. I find that I struggle with trying to please people. As a pastor, I have found that is an impossibility. You can do your best, and still someone will not like it or think you should have done it their way. That’s just life, I think. I always say that ministry would be a lot easier if it weren’t for all these people!! (but I do love these people!!!) Learning to just be who I am and make the best choices I can is a constant battle. No one wants people to be upset with them, but you can’t live your life trying to make everyone happy. You just have to be who you are. St. Irenaeus said, “The glory of God is a human being fully alive”. Perhaps we miss out on “fully alive” because we fail be fully ourselves. We could take lessons from the dogs. So, if you feel like sniffing some butts, sniff with vigor and who cares what people say (I do mean that in the most figurative of ways).
Love like you will never be hurt:
My dogs are completely indiscriminate about showing off their bellies. If you have hands for petting, they roll over to receive your affection. When we are on a walk, we must sniff every other dog we encounter, chase every squirrel we see, bark at every bird who dares cross our path, and force every child within two miles to play with us. I watch how free my dogs are with their love and affection, and think of how hard it is for me to be vulnerable or to open myself up to the world. The longer I live, it’s easier to be scared of getting hurt. The more you get hurt, the more determined you become to never get hurt again. Not my dogs. One of them, Ariel, has never known anything but absolute pampering. The worst hurt she has experienced is when I move and wake her up before she is finished with her nap. But Pepper, my cocker spaniel, is a rescue dog. I don’t know that much about her past, but I know she was ignored—perhaps even abused. She was dropped off at a high kill shelter and left to die. I got Pepper from a lady who rescues dogs from high kill shelters. Poor Pepper has been tossed around and neglected, and now she has to put up with little Ariel tormenting her on a daily basis. She would have reason to stop letting people close. Still, Pepper wags her little tail at any person who walks by. The neighborhood kids ring my doorbell on a regular basis to play with both dogs, but especially Pepper. Pepper runs up and down the street with them until the kids are ready to pass out and Pepper is just getting started. Dogs remind us of what we miss out on by being so guarded. They live in a world of no strangers. We might experience life more fully if we, too, were less afraid to share our soft underbellies with the world.
Forgiveness means really letting it go:
I’ll be honest and admit that my dogs have a mischievous side. They get into trouble. As evolved as I am, I sometimes yell at them. More than that, I sometimes step on them. That, of course, is accidental. But when two little furry things constantly follow on your heels, it is hard not to trip over them on occasion. The thing is, no matter what I do or say, they still love me. They want to be near me. I can scold one of them for being bad, and the next second, that dog is right there, begging to be petted, gazing at me with adoration, wanting to kiss me. Being human, I know how easy it is to hold grudges, to walk on eggshells around people who have hurt us. Not a dog. A dog doesn’t hold grudges. A dog is all about love. I have learned more about God’s forgiveness and unconditional love from my dogs than just about anything else. I tend to beat myself up for mistakes—and wonder how God can still love me when I mess up so much. But then I look at my dogs, and think I have gotten it all wrong…that I need to learn how to forgive and really let it go (not just in regard to other people, but also for myself). I realize that God is a dog in this analogy, but Jesus compares himself to a chicken in Scripture, so I think I am safe.
Loving God means adoring God:
My dogs think that I hung the moon in the sky. They watch me constantly. When I stand up, they stand up. When I go into another room, they go into another room. There is no thing they love more than to be in my presence. Nothing else—not even Snausages—comes close to comparing with me, at least in their world. If one of the dogs gets in trouble, they look devastated at my disapproval. The whole world stops until our relationship is made right again. It makes me think about Jesus, how He says that life is supposed to be about loving God first and loving others as we love ourselves. The more I think about it, I think God wants us to love Him like dogs love us. It isn’t about always being perfect or about acting holy. It is about a relationship with God, it is about making Him our absolute priority. I will be the first to admit that I don’t love God as well as my dogs love me. I do at times, in moments, but not constantly. I don’t always long to be near Him, to just be in His presence. I get busy; other priorities crowd in. When I have really failed myself—and God—the passion of my heart should be righting that relationship; it should be the goal of my life to let nothing crowd Him out of center. I want to love God the way my dogs love me. I want my whole life to center on His activity. When God is on the move, I want to go with Him…not just wait and play it safe, or check my calendar to see when I have time to schedule Him into the mix. My dogs’ greatest joy is my presence. I think we will only get this loving God thing right when our greatest joy is to be in His presence every moment of our lives.
3 comments:
First, I must say that I miss you tons and coming home over Thanksgiving wasn't the same without grabbing breakfast at Ike's for the Husky.
Secondly, after finally finding enough time to sit down at a computer, I got to spend a few minutes to read the inner workings of one of the few geniuses that I know.
Now....Dog's.
I think it's slightly ironic that you associate dogs with God, seeing as dog spelled backwards God spelled forward. Anyhoo, I don't think that I could agree more. I wish that I could have the forgiveness of a dog. Several years ago, I was playing fetch with our Shih Tzu, Molly. She came running up to me and wanted me to throw the tennis ball. I don't really know how it happened, but I accidently lost control of the ball and threw it right into the face of Molly. She rolled on the ground and winced in pain. I bent down to pour out my apologies. After pawing at her eye for several seconds and shaking it off, she was ready again, wanting me to throw the ball, just as she had just done. Thinking about it, I'm sure that if I had hit her in the face three times with the ball, she would still be back for more. Reading this reminded me that I should also forgive, just as Christ says, not seven times, but seventy-times.
So, that was my reflection on today's entry. I must say that if you keep writing this blog (which I hope you will do). That I might try to incorporate it as part of my daily devotional. We'll see how it goes.
Just think, enough anecdotes and you'll be able to publish a book. I'd buy it.
wonderful article tina. makes me want a dog. cats are cool, but they could really do without us. thanks.
Note to Tina:
Teach the dog to keep her tongue in her mouth while she sleeps.
Other than that: How cute are they!? Precious would be so proud she'd pee herself.
Love,
Jes
Post a Comment