This week, my precious little Lab Shiloh injured her
right paw. A couple of days ago when our
garage door was open, Shiloh took her obvious opportunity to go racing out of
the house. She sped down the stairs, down into the garage, and out into our
townhome complex. Naturally, I ran after her, looking just as crazy as I’m sure
my neighbors imagine I am. She then decided
that she would poop on the sidewalk AND terrorize a new resident. Great. When I
finally caught her, she was limping pathetically, and my anger dissolved. I surveyed the damage and found that her paw
was bleeding a bit between the toes. I tried to clean the area as best I could,
but as soon as I touched her paw, Shiloh yelped and whipped back in pain,
almost biting me. Now, every time I sit
down to play with her, Shiloh looks at me and walks away…probably because she
thinks I’m trying to hurt her. The truth is exactly the opposite.I love my dog. She is not a human, but she’s
my company when my husband is away at sea (which he just happens to be for the
next two weeks). Call me crazy, but sometimes I even have conversations with
her. She is always by my side, and she’s there waiting on me when I get home. Plus,
she’ll cuddle with me whenever I need it, which seems to be more often than not(it’s
like dogs have a sixth sense about these things or something).She’s my pal.
This morning I found myself weepy over her lack of affection. I contemplated
writing a desperate email to my husband about how sad I feel now that she won’t
come near me, but then I realized that he, unlike myself, probably has too much
going on to be bothered with my hormonal ramblings. I know that he would care,
but I decided to spare him this time.
So, I was left to my journal. At my kitchen table, I tearfully penned:
Lord, I know
this seems childish, but please make Shiloh trust me enough to come to me.
And then, almost audibly, I felt the Lord reminding
me: I have the same desire for you.
If you know me well, you know that I worry about the smallest details
of life. I mean, I am the girl whose heart starts racing and stomach starts
churning whenever we have an icebreaker at Bible study because it means I’ll be
forced to talk. And if you asked me to
share my testimony to a room of people, I might just run out crying. I don’t do
well with being out of control of my personal “bubble” and I start sweating
profusely if traffic makes me 2 minutes late. Sometimes it seems like I let
this anxiety rule my life. It’s not
right, but it’s true. Anxiety is too much a part of my life. In fact, I would
venture to say that it shouldn’t be a part of my life at all. There is a difference between being concerned
and planning well, and partnering with anxiety. And I’m pretty sure that because anxiety is my
“life crutch” it means that I don’t trust the Father. I don’t trust him to
provide faithfully(as he always does) or to be in charge of the chaos that is
my life(which, incidentally, probably would NOT be as chaotic if I just let go
of control) Honestly, my thoughts are so
divided that I don’t go to Jesus because I don’t know what it means to rest. In
his grace. In his truth. In his calming embrace( and no…I did not mean for that
to rhyme…this is what happens when you spend the majority of your day with
children J )
Jesus knows me. He loves me. And he desires that I come; with my fears, with my
anxieties--with all of these things that keep me from experiencing freedom--and
to lay them down. It’s that simple.
Therefore I tell you, do not
worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you
will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important
than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store
away in barns, and yet your heavenly
Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?
Who of you by worrying can
add a single hour to his life?
Matthew
6:25-27
PS: Shiloh is fine J
She is being treated for an infected baby toe. She’s in some pain, but she’s
still acting like a crazy puppy, so all is well, in case you were wondering.
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