Games We Play

   I often house-sit and dog-sit for some friends when they’re out of town.  The dog I take care of happens to be the biggest German Shepherd I have ever seen. Every person who sees her for the first time is in awe of her remarkable size.

  Her greatest joy, and total obsession, is chasing balls. Her body mass is not a deterrent for the chase.  In spite of her size, she is able to glide through the tall grass with the greatest of ease, and leap over rocks with the beauty of the mighty horse.  However, there is a large problem we encounter with these ball-throwing sessions that she so desires.  

 When I throw the ball she bursts into immediate action securing the ball tightly in her mouth. Then this is where things get rather complicated. Once the ball is safely in her jaws, she becomes quite unsure about actually bringing it to me. She starts making her way in my direction as I remain perfectly still. She stares at me; drops the ball, and then picks it up again; stares at me; drops the ball, and before I can place my hands on it, she snatches it up again.  She then circles around me like she's marching around the walls of Jericho with the band of Israelites.  

  As she circles, she gets closer and closer to me but never actually relinquishes the object of her affection.  She clearly wants the joy of running and catching the ball and I badly want to give it to her, so I encourage her to give it to me, but with little results. I eventually become frustrated and say to her, “Don’t you get it?  Don’t you realize that you are denying yourself of what you want by not trusting me with the ball?”  

  That ball-game pattern repeated itself again today when suddenly I realized something about myself.  

  I do that too, don’t I?  I do the same thing to God. That ball; my life. Circling; circling… when will I trust Him enough to lay it all at His feet?

          copyright 6/3/2014