Today I hung out with Margaret and Conor. It was a gorgeous day, cold and hard and washed-out blue and brittle gold. We walked around South East Portland in the morning: through the dog park (for Conor), through the bank (for laundry quarters), and through the bakery for raspberry muffins (for elevensies). Once home we continued with our chores-- sorting cds and stacking books and doing laundry-- and everywhere we went Conor went too, nose forwardmost, doggedly interested in every little thing. Once we almost forgot him in the house when we stepped out to switch the wash, but the nose reminded us. "That's Conor," said Margaret. "Always eager to see what's going to happen next."
There's a lesson in that, I thought. Coner is blissfully secure in his doghood. He has complete faith that whatever Margaret does, he can do, whatever she likes, he likes, wherever she goes, he goes. He has no fear of what might be around the next corner. It doesn't occur to him to worry about the next five minutes, let alone tomorrow. He's just happy to discover each blind turn as it comes.
Are we any less secure than Conor? No. Our Master, Owner, Provider is the ultimate incarnation of these titles, yet we constantly plod along expecting "the next thing" to be death and disaster. While receiving showers of blessing through the simple act of breathing we wait for the other shoe to drop. Must we become dogs before we realize that He loves us with a perfect love that casts out fear? Is it not our duty-- our privilege-- to share Conor's eagerness about the future, yea verily even the next five minutes?
1 comment:
Thanks for this -- I wrote a similar thing the other day, too, about Conor (Irish spelling, of course! meaning "lover of hounds" and "much wanted") and the way he teaches me so much about how I could trust God better if I had the same amount of fido-ness. Doglike fidelity. Dogged determination....dogging God's steps...okay, okay, I'll stop!
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