weekend Inspirations

by Tim Knappenberger

Shadow is our pure-bred, cocker spaniel, wanna-be. In short, a mutt. When clipped she can pass for a pedigree-carrying cocker. Normally, however, she sports long curly hair that causes her to more resemble a black bear crossed with a Clydesdale horse (her paws have that shaggy boot look). Shadow has learned that "head" means to flatten out like a road-kill frog on the floor to get a treat. "Paw" means she's to extend her's, again looking for the inevitable treat. But Shadow's greatest trick that brings untold joy to our family as well as a host of others was self taught. Shadow (please pardon the expression) is a little tramp. At the drop of a hat, she will flop over on her back, spread all four of her legs and plead with you through big brown eyes to rub her tummy. Not only does she do this with us, but she exposes herself to just about anybody who happens over; the mailman, the neighbor, the meter reader, ANYBODY! And should you not rub her tummy an adequate, Shadow-mandated, length of time, she will actually use her front paws to pull your hand back to her belly. No lie! But this isn't the worst of it. Much against my stoic, Germanic sensibilities, everyone she does this with loves it! Not only will they rub her tummy, but it amazes me the words that come from these grown adults. "Oh Shaddy, Waddy, Faddy. Does her want her wittle puppy wuppy tummy wubbed?" It almost makes me nauseous to type the words, let alone when I say Whoops. I mean when THEY say them 8 or 10 times over.

Now how is this demonstration of canine exhibitionism an emotional responsibility? If you have to ask the question, you'll never understand the answer. However, for you "pet people", you need no explanation. You already know how rubbing a puppy's tummy, or stroking Kitty's back, or nuzzling Polly's bill seems to melt much of that knot-in-your-gut tension you carried with you through much of the day. Our pets' greatest responsibility is to be 100% open and vulnerable to us. No pretenses. No artificial posturing. No striking poses (unless, of course, it's flat on your back with all paws skyward). Because we get so lost in all of the above, we can, if only for a moment, loose ourselves in their genuineness. We delight in their craving for our pats, strokes, and scratches behind the ears. It's a tough job, but thankfully they're there to do it.

I sometimes wonder if God delights as much in us as we do our pets when we honestly, nakedly, and unashamedly flop down before Him to have our bellies scratched. Okay, so maybe it's not our bellies that need scratching, but what about our bruised egos in need of soothing, or our broken hearts in need of mending, or our shaken faith in need of reassuring? You see, it's the delight in the eyes of our pets that delights our hearts. If we're created in the image of our Father, can He feel any differently toward us?

So you see, Shadow does, after all, have an important job. She opens herself to supply the tummy. Our job is to take delight in scratching it. Such a simple, yet profound contract. God says it another way: "I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me-" [John 10:14] As our Shepherd, His job is to feed us, protect us, lead us, and most importantly, to love us. Our job? Simply put, it's to be fed, protected, led, and loved. That's it! But allowing Him to do so requires us to assume a spiritual position not unlike Shadow's. Open, vulnerable, and craving His touch. When's the last time you allowed yourself to have a good (and Divine) tummy rub?

Opening ourselves to God allows us to be given to, not taken from.

Ps 149:4

Please drop Tim a line at   knapp@raex.com