Today’s religious insight is courtesy of my 90-pound labradoodle.
|Everything is so good. I love you.|
I’m trying to work. Big Doodle keeps putting his Volkswagon-sized head on my arm, or in my lap. He just wants to be close. I try to type and pet him at the same time, and manage to poke him in the eye. It doesn’t even faze him.
Big Doodle looooooves me. Big Doodle wants to be with me all the time. Big Doodle forgives my imperfections.
Dogs are God in physical form.
When you get a dog, you initially think of what they are going to bring to your life – love, someone to talk to, a reason to exercise. But you end up serving the dog – providing for its physical needs, finding toys or activities for enrichment, lavishing attention and time. But instead of being thankless work, this service just makes your relationship with the dog better and better. The more you give, the more you get.
It’s not all sunshine and roses. I’m pretty sure dachshunds are Old Testament God, all full of vengeance and wrath.
Doxies are 10% love, 90% demands, and some of those demands don’t exactly seem rational. They haven’t asked me to build an ark (yet), but sometimes, the requests to go in and out and in and out and then come in again feel close. I’m trying to be of service, but I don’t understand what they want.
|You have displeased me.|
Sometimes I realize the method in the madness. I’m supposed to get up from my desk so I can have a quick brainstorm. Or, all the in and out reminds me that it’s a beautiful day, and I should take time to enjoy it. These dogs provide my own personal doxology, a cadence of life and energy and love.
This is my ministry. Or my Sisyphean struggle. But mostly, my blessing.