In the effort to learn my new craft of speaking to the
masses, continue writing my book, balancing my work load as wife, mother, and
sometimes-substitute teacher, with two high-energy dogs, I find I’m often
lacking the time and/or skill to fit in time for much else. I keep meaning to
work out every day, be better about reading one of my three bibles, and
reaching out more to my neighbors. So,
when last Sunday’s lesson was given by our Interim Pastor spoke on the intimacy
we should have with our Savior, and I couldn’t help thinking of my little
buddy.
It just came to
consciousness, that recently…or maybe I just didn’t notice before…my newly
blind Jack Russell seems to always be at my feet. It doesn’t matter if I’m taking a bathroom
break, making dinner, or taking a power nap.
My friend is always either at my feet, or lying as close to my hip as he
can get. He has learned to navigate the
house (as long as we don’t move the furniture!), and walks outside and down the
patio steps for potty breaks by himself.
So I don’t think he stays close out of fear. I think he just likes being close by.
Considering this, I wondered why it is that I don’t have the
same devotion to my Father. I know,
Gizmo is a dog. His life is so easy. Therefore, he doesn’t have the same obligations
I have. He doesn’t start his day with a
list of things that HAVE to get done, a list of should’s, nor does he get caught up in the diversions I often find
myself captivated by. It makes me a
little jealous of his simple life.
I suppose he could spend all his time chasing his ball,
eating every time his bowl is filled, or nap on his own, but he stays with me
instead…everywhere I go. I wonder if he
gets the same feeling that comes over me when I’m at church on Sunday mornings,
when the TV isn’t blathering political ads, my cell phone is turned off, and I
am blissfully quiet. Quiet enough to listen to my Father’s voice and be in the
Word without any distraction, and to be one hundred present… at my Father’s
feet. Makes me wish every day could be
Sunday, and moves me to try even harder to make that quiet time more of a
priority.
