At the beginning of April I adopted a stray dog. She showed up on my front lawn and just like
that I decided to adopt her. For those
who know me (nary a spontaneous bone in my body), this was rather
uncharacteristic. But I was
compelled. When I looked at her, I could
see how scared she was - of everything.
She had scars to prove she'd done her share of surviving in the
wild. Yet I could also see a sweetness
underneath it all. She wanted to trust
me, but just couldn't. I heard God say,
"Sarah, I want to show you what healing looks like." And so, she became mine.
Day one I took her to the vet; she was visibly shaking she
was so scared. Surprise! I learned she was pregnant. I believe the vets words during the physical
exam were, "Well, I know she doesn't have more than one bladder so I think
she is pregnant." More on that adventure
perhaps another time, but today's lesson is about learning to walk.
The first few walks I took Gracie on involved very little
walking. She was petrified of the leash,
of cars, of crossing streets, of drain hole covers . . . of everything. We did more whining, cowering, and shaking
than walking. A friend who is
experienced with dogs assured me that after a while Gracie would learn to trust
me. She'd learn to go where I led. Her trust in me would help her overcome the
fears.
I was skeptical! After
the puppies were gone (there were 8 by the way!), the walks were actually
worse. Walk number one involved me
coaxing her to the edge of my property with treats while she whined the whole
time. Just before we got to the curb she
became frantic, cowered down on the ground, and wouldn't budge. I decided to try again another day.
She's made great progress over the past few weeks. On our walks I probably sounded like a
lunatic to others passing by; I was making kissy noises and talking sweetly to
her nearly the whole time for encouragement.
It worked so I kept at it. Last
week we went for over a mile. It was our
first night time walk which included a new fear hurdle - headlights. At one point, scared by some oncoming
headlights, Gracie cowered down to the ground.
No amount of calling or gently tugging on the leash was going to make
her budge. She wasn't moving until she
was ready. I squatted down beside her, stroked
her head, and talked sweetly to her until she was able and willing to follow me
home.
That dark night as we headed home, stopping occasionally
when headlights zoomed past, it hit me.
The times when I am most afraid - frozen in fear (or grief or shame or
confusion), cowered down to the ground unable to move forward - God is with
me. He squats down, gently strokes my
head, talks sweetly to me and waits until I'm ready to move. When I am most afraid, wanting to trust but
seemingly unable, he waits with me. I
don't ever want to forget this.
I'm proud to report that tonight when I pulled out Gracie's
leash she danced around the den, tail wagging, joyfully anticipating our
walk. She didn't cower down to the
ground once. We passed each street,
vehicle, and drain hole cover without incident.
She is learning to trust her master.
I hope I can be as quick a learner!
Yet I know if I'm not - if I'm slow, frightened, hesitant or unable - God
is patient. He waits with me until I can
follow Him home.
He waits with you too.
I'm glad to hear that Gracie is doing better: and that you're having this opportunity to practice care for another creature.
ReplyDeleteAnd, of course: good point in the last paragraph. :)