I had a teary time with God this morning, all because of nothing. Just because of the wind, maybe. Or because of the sound of my friend’s dog’s toenails on the wood floor, or maybe because this dog kept coming into my office to see me–with one of her toys in her mouth. And the absurd preciousness of ordinary life came crashing through the dullness of me sitting in my chair trying to experience God while he was still trying to wake me up.
Forget your prayers, God said. Do you really see this dog?
God knows that I feel a keen, extra tenderness toward Chloe simply because she belongs to my dear friend K, who tragically lost her husband not many months ago. K needed someone to watch her dog while she went away to tend her grief. She went off to a special place to be sad on purpose, you could say. Which is a beautiful and brave thing to do, if you ask me.
And so no wonder the sight of her sweet, large dog bringing me her toy baby makes me want to cry.
I wasn’t originally meant to dog-sit Chloe. I’m her fourth home after a series of other friends couldn’t keep her because she didn’t get along with their own dogs. For some reason, Chloe and Edmund get on great. Probably because Edmund is so inconsequential in bearing (sorry, Ed), Chloe doesn’t see him as a threat. She probably doesn’t even realize that he’s a dog. :)
It worked out how it was meant to, is what I’m saying. Caring for Chloe feels like a spiritual assignment of the highest order, an unexpected gift, like God showing up at my front door because I forgot he was already here.
Yesterday, I tried to write a helpful post, but it didn’t work out. The good news is that it didn’t bother me at all. I was trying to talk about the outrageous extent of God’s moment by moment compassion for us. But maybe you can’t explain such a thing in a way that makes it happen, you simply have to get slammed by the truth of it for yourself.
Kind of like what happened to me this morning when God reminded me that life is perfect just as it is and he isn’t just with us, he’s in us and living through us. Which means he is having all the experiences we are having. Which means he isn’t watching us go through something, or helping us get through something, he is suffering or enjoying or bearing it with us every moment we live.
Which means God is somewhere in Tennessee today being sad on purpose.
Which means God is about to walk two dogs in the wild, whipping wind down an ordinary alley somewhere in Colorado.
Which means God is reading this post with you, hoping you get slammed.
[As I return to blogging, I am hoping to be more casual and spontaneous about it. Sometimes, like today, I will write in Raw and then realize it should be shared with you all instead. I hope that's okay. Tell me if you see typos!]