Tip of My Iceberg

Mom wouldn’t let us have a dog growing up. She didn’t want to be the one to take care of it.

We did have a dog for a couple of weeks when I was in eighth grade. Dad brought her home, much to Mom’s chagrin. A beagle who loved to chew on everything. Her name was Holly, but we should have called her Houdini. She was an escape artist. After getting hit twice by cars, Dad took her to a friend who lived on a farm.

So much for canine companions.

I connived three dogs for our family during my kids’ growing up years. Usually when John was out of the country. Pudgie lasted the longest. A sweet-tempered, non-chewing, non-licking dog, his only drawback was his exuberance around other canines. And his excessive fur.

When he died a couple of years ago, John said no more.

I don’t know why he was so negative. I’m the one who took care of our mutts.

When our daughter’s family rescued a dog, John made it very clear she wasn’t staying at our house. No dog sitting. He’d made up his mind he wasn’t going to enjoy her.

So much for saying never.

Heather’s family left for a week. They’d diligently gotten a dog sitter to take care of Mae. Hadn’t asked us.

Until they realized their sitters couldn’t begin till three days after their departure.

I assured her we’d be fine taking care of her for those days. We wouldn’t bring her to our home, but we’d spend time with her at theirs.

She could hear me walk in the front door. She’d begin jumping in her crate. Thrilled that I was there.

She made me feel like the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Very few people in my life ever get that excited about seeing me.

As I attached her leash to take her for a walk, I felt enjoyed by Mae. I was a highlight for her day.

Pretty heady stuff. Being so thoroughly enjoyed.

I love the opportunity of letting others know they’re special. Knowing I’ve brought encouragement and delight to another person fills my heart with joy and makes whatever I’m going through less worrisome.

Who doesn’t love to be loved well?

Mae doesn’t parcel out her gratitude based on how long our walks are. If they’re too long, she lays in the grass. She doesn’t hold back from laying her head in my lap if I’m not paying attention to her. She snuggles in deeper.

She loves unconditionally. She’s thrilled that I show up.

Having this time with Mae has been a visual for how well God loves me. He doesn’t measure my value in how much I do for Him. He invites me to show up because He’s always there, waiting for time with me. He doesn’t grade my performance on the right choices I make. He’s well aware of how often I blow it.

Yet He enjoys me. Thrilled when I show up. Period.

I’m one of the rescued ones. Just like Mae. Valued by Him because I’m His. By His choice.

Who doesn’t love being loved well?