A few years ago my housemate was dog-sitting a whiny, clingy blond cocker spaniel named Hunter who howled when he was left alone. When I arrived home from work he followed me around everywhere, his puppy dog eyes pleading, “Don’t ever leave me again!”
As I warmed up for my workout, the dog wagged his tail, “Finally, some action! We’re going to play!” Then he got bored of watching me stretch and jumped up on the bed, curling up in a ball. When I started the treadmill he got excited again. I noticed too late that Hunter had decided to join me on my walk. “No, no, no!” I cried, but it was too late: Hunter had jumped up on the treadmill … and been catapulted right back onto terra firma. I stopped the treadmill to see if he was okay. He wagged his tail and wanted to get back on again.
I feel like that dog sometimes. I step blithely into a situation that God hasn’t necessarily called me to or that I’m not exactly prepared for and get catapulted backwards, sometimes hurt. Then I ask, “Wait a minute, Lord! I thought you were going to protect me? I thought you were going to be with me?”
But no matter how hard I fall or how much it hurts, the Lord is there to lend comfort and restoration. He dusts me off, makes sure I’m okay, then points me in the right direction again. And He never laughs at my ungraceful flops. I guess that’s one area (of many) where God and I are different: I sure laughed at that poor dog!