Bella sprawls in front of the screen door, her nose
twitching as she picks up smells, her ears in motion as she strains for intriguing
noises. She is ready, willing something to happen, someone to arrive, a passing
dog to bark at.
I approach from behind, to exit through the door, and she is
up, alive, wiggling a greeting, nosing my toes, barely restraining herself from
jumping all over me. I know I am loved.
A year old now, Bella is my cousin’s dog. She is definitely ‘in
your face’ when you approach.
Not everyone likes dogs, but there is something so
attractive about that unconditional love of a dog. You could be out all day,
and still get a warm greeting when you arrive home. No cold shoulder.
All a dog wants is something to eat, some exercise, and some
playful interaction with their human. A little bit of time.
God is not in my face. He is much more restrained and
polite, ready to respond to my overtures, and probably disappointed but not
surprised when I miss his.
May I be attentive today to every whisper of my Saviour, to
every whiff of divine fragrance in my day. May I linger in his presence for no
reason other than to enjoy his company. May I appreciate the awesomeness of the
fact that the omnipotent God bends down and waits, as it were, at the screen
door, hoping for a little attention.
I scarce can take it in.
No comments:
Post a Comment