We got a frantic email from the animal rescue group in our area. Their adoption center was full and a young dog (perfectly healthy, cute, sweet) needed a foster home that afternoon or he’d be surrendered to the kill shelter. So my son washed out the crate we used when our amazing Jack Russell, Mr. Sniffy, was sick and dying. (Yes, the same Mr. Sniffy who married the beautiful Miss Isabella Threlkeld in a garden wedding at our home). That crate brought back a slew of memories. None of them good. Our rescue hound pinned her ears back and slunk to her bed, she remembered it, too.
We abandoned our planned excursion to the area swimming hole to conduct our mission, but forgot to change out of our swimsuits so we arrived looking like we belonged somewhere else. Our ride to the rescue center was filled, somewhat appropriately, with our snarling and snapping. But one look at what we were rescuing and all of that was behind us. Part Pomeranian, part Jack Russell Terrier (with the unfortunate name of “Dude”) this little dog was the stuff of a Disney movie: Smart, wily, sweet, scared and scarred. You could tell in a glance that he: 1. Totally understood the gravity of his situation and 2. Desperately wanted a second chance at life.
In less than 20 minutes “Dude” had a new name: Mr. Pip. Over the course of a weekend he had both of us wrapped around his finger. His sweet eyes were made for comedy, a little askew, like Marty Feldman’s. We even laughed when he peed the house because he did it in such an honest, “Oops, did I just do that?!!” kind of way. We laughed until one of us had to mop it up. By Monday we’d decided to adopt him. He’d won a new lease on life.
Which set me to thinking. Why don’t we do that? Why don’t we look at our “kill shelter moments” as opportunities instead of disasters? Why don’t we believe in our own possibility? I guarantee you God’s got stuff in place. (Of course, we’d have to stop sabotaging all the good stuff that comes our way to see it.) Pip knows how God works better than we do! Thrust into a frightening situation without much warning or understanding, in the most desperate of moments that little dog trusted that the right thing was happening. He believed we would want him until we did. Wow! How simple is that?!
Now let’s compare that to what I usually do: beg God to do what I want and then miss what I’m given. I wonder how much opportunity I miss out on because I’m looking in the other direction? Why can’t I be more like Pip and believe that help is coming and trust that my God is the God of second (and third and fourth) chances?As we snuggle in bed tonight, I believe I’ll take Pip’s advice: “If you’re not dead yet, keep trusting and believing that good things will come your way.
