Blind Fear

One of the things I consider an absolute joy about having a pet is that they absolutely don't understand words. Some people think that animals such as dogs and cats can catch the gist of what you're saying, but I'm pretty certain that's not the case. Being that my IQ scored in the triple digits last time I tested, I believe that my opinion deserves at least some consideration.

See, my parents have this dog. Her name is Pebbles and she's a poodle-terrier mix. She's black and grey and is both colorfully exuberant and profoundly stupid. I don't really know how she compares to other dogs and I'll admit that she can be kind of crafty sometimes, but I'm often overwhelmed by this overt sense of simplicity that characterizes the way she approaches life. 

And it was pointed out to me that we talk to our dog in a "baby voice." That's funny to me because, until that point, I was unaware that this is not a completely normal practice for other families. But in fact, the dog is not addressed with a "baby" voice. We have a specifically tailored doggy voice for our little Pebbles. And it is different than whatever "baby voice" we might ever be inclined to use on a human infant. Over the years, I hope that this doggy speak of ours will evolve to something hilariously outrageous, shocking, and disturbing to outsiders not already made numb to our demented chatter.

If you thought our doggy speak was weird, you have no idea how extravagant our bunny speak was. Over the course of nearly a decade of rabbit ownership, my brothers and I developed a bunny voice with which we projected thoughts and verbage onto our animals. This dialect evolved to include not only childish mispronunciations and frequently used phrases, but also a mix of German and Spanish word endings, mispronunciations of certain words created by following another language's phonetic rules, mis-conjugated  verbs, multiple and sometimes interlinguistically mixed pluralizations, thoughts that we felt aligned with our perception of the rabbits' worldview, and observations of their own physical features. 

For the dog, I tend to talk more to her than as her. Maybe it's because both of her eyes point in generally the same direction and she possesses a slightly more engaging presence. Maybe it's that she appears to recognize the sound of her own name, much unlike the rabbits. That being said, my "conversation" with the dog is usually flavored heavily with an abundance of verbal insults spoken in the sweetest voice possible. It truly makes my heart dance to watch such a small, innocent creature respond so positively to such negative language. 

While she seems to lack any resemblance to any self-awareness or conceptualization concerning her own size, abilities, or the intimidation value of her physical presence, she does seem to embody the term "scardie dog." Her feisty instincts are often swiftly intercepted by the reality of her diminutive size. I'll admit that we don't have her very well trained. Perhaps it's that we secretly wanted a circus freak more than a sideshow. Nevertheless, we could be doing better in having her trained. For that reason, we keep a close eye on her when we take her out of the house. Bringing her on family camping trips is almost like bringing a baby. We're extra careful to keep our little furry one safe.

If only she could understand....

On the most recent Clifton family camping trip, we brought Pebbles along for the third time in her short lifetime. We did it because that's what normal families apparently do and because we're so attached to the darn thing that we can't fathom a week without her. But she's not a camping dog. She's not an outdoorsy dog. She's a non-shedding indoor lap dog.

We really don't have her very acclimated to the outside world. Dogs should be taken out on walks regularly, but we're just not doing that. When we do take her to get the mail, she's uncontrollably nervous the whole time. So for most of the camping trip, she's tense. There are a lot of sights and smells and sounds and the whole experience is a little overwhelming for her simple doggy mind. Things that are old and familiar to us are new and terrifying to her.

Yet, I still don't think she understands how much we love her. We're absolutely obsessed with this scruffy little animal. She constantly fears every time one of our car door opens that we're about to forget about her and leave without her. She thinks when one leaves, that they'll never come back. She has no idea that we absolutely have everything under control and that we are practically incapable of forgetting or abandoning our precious little puppy. We're not afraid of the noises and the strangers and the sights and smells because we know what's going on and we know that there's no danger.

I wish I could explain to her how safe she is.

I kid you not, every time I thought that, I was immediately drawn to how perfectly it exemplifies how God sees us. His love for us is never diminished by the fact that we're complete bozos. I wonder at the number of times I've literally worried myself to a lesser state of physical health and I imagine God watching me while saying, "You can't seriously think I'm this powerless!" Despite my knowledge that I've been adopted into His unconditional care, I'm chronically forgetful that my entire existence is cradled in the undying love of the highest power of this or any universe. 

Even the Bible frequents the likening of us as sheep with Christ as our shepherd. John chapter 10 sums it up perfectly. The idea is the same, especially when you get how unbelievably stupid sheep are in comparison to their shepherd. Being that they weren't bred for intelligence, I can't imagine that they could be any smarter than the rabbits my brothers had. 

The truth is that we can't possibly see the big picture. Even the most brilliant minds this world has ever known were still severely limited. It's good that we try to understand our universe, but it's silly when we think we can "get it." It would be easier to fit all of the internet onto a floppy disk than for a human brain to grasp the magnitude of all that is. 

What concerns us is that God's providence in our lives looks so different from what we think it should look like. That's why we get scared that maybe God stopped giving a damn about our lives. Our dog doesn't understand many of the things we do for her such as baths, trips to the groomer and vet, and the fact that we're not more willing to share our "people" food. Just like our dog whines and cries that we're not giving her things that she wants (or we're giving her things she doesn't want); I've habitually embraced the view that my pathetic love life, my psychiatric instability, and my meager finances are evidence of God's failure to love and bless me. I interpret uncomfortable events in my life as cruelty and neglect, rather than insightful intervention and care.

What kind of all-powerful and loving god would_____________________________?

Some people think that God doesn't care about the suffering and starvation in the Third-World. We can't see His broken heart at the misery of the people whose lives are ravaged by disease, famine, and oppression. And if you're hoping that since I seem to think I'm so smart, that I have an explanation to give for all of that terrible crap that happens to people who deserve it no more than you and I, I can't. I'm just as clueless as the rest of the world. I have merely five senses and can't even solve a Rubik's cube without a cheat sheet. Who am I to think I could possibly understand the suffering of entire nations full of people?

But I know that this life is not the end. Our existence as humans is a brief whisper compared to eternity. I'm confident that God is reaching souls that I didn't think could be reached and that he judges by standards too inscrutable for my tiny brain to grasp. As chaotic as the world looks, I think God's work is more present than any of us could ever dream: we just don't 'get' it when we see it. 

The beauty is that we are incapable of absorbing the fine details of His artistry. Things that are big and scary to us are non-issues to our creator. If it's financial difficulty, heartbreak, addiction, loneliness, illness, abuse, or baggage; in Christ, we can be one day relieved of those burdens. But there's no promise that it will be in this life. Ironically, surrendering that which hurts us the most is one of the hardest things to do in life. 

"The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."  ~ Franklin Delano Roosevelt ~

In my prayers, I ask that I might become better at surrender because I'm not very good at it. I think I'm improving, but I still have a long way to go. While this is not a call to neglect our lifes' purposes, I think Philippians 4:6-7 makes it clear that those who are prone to worry need to take a chill pill, keep doing their 'thang,' and let God do His 'God thang.' Worry does no favors to those who allow it into their lives. It's a highly destructive force that grips and paralyzes those within its bonds. It is masterful at thwarting prude judgement and deprives those loved by God from experiencing the full scope and glory of the blessings he pours on our lives. The better I can rid myself of fear, the closer I will be to enjoying all of the blessings God wants to me to experience in this life.