I love the dog park. It's joy, unadultarated--dogs loping, running, occasionally tussling and tumbling. It had been too long so I headed there with our dog Samson a few days ago. The poor puppy had not had much exercise over several weeks, so despite the 98 degree weather he was extremely excited to arrive. I was looking forward to it as well. Probably due to the heat, there were only three other dog owners there for a combined total of 7 dogs.
I became immediately uncomfortable with one of them, a pit bull that appeared young--perhaps one year old. There were two other pits, and I didn't have a fondness for them either, but I wasn't concerned. When the nervous sensation kept coming back, I prayed, "God, why am I so anxious about this dog? Give me a peace that passes understanding in this situation, that only you can give me." This was my own prayerful paraphrase of Philippians 4:6-7, "Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made know to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." Yet no new sense of peace came over me.
I tried to talk some sense into myself by reasoning that dogs who come to dog parks are socialized to other dogs and humans, and shouldn't make me uncomfortable at all. Only owners who are confident that their dogs are friendly, or at least not dangerous, would bring them to the dog park. No amount of self-talk, no matter how peppy, made me feel better. I started thinking about leaving, but it seemed so silly since Samson had not had his fill of exercise yet.
The other dog owners started talking to one another. Turns out they were all part of a pit bull rescue and they were meeting to exchange the dog that made me uncomfortable. He had been found the previous day roaming in a parking lot. A pit bull. Found yesterday. No known history around other dogs or humans. Bye, bye, dog park.
Later in the day when Paul and I were doing P90X in the basement, Becca reported that she couldn't find Garrett. We told her to look in his room, the playroom, the back yard, the garage, and basically everywhere he likes to go. This was not that unusual of a situation. We have a big house, and Becca's really not very thorough. But I suddenly had an inexplicable and very unsettled feeling. Paul and I stopped our workout and began to search. We couldn't find him anywhere.
I began to feel panicky, and lifted another prayer to God. "God, where is Garrett? Please show me." Moments later I opened up our coffee table, which has a storage area for blankets. I screamed. Garrett was in there, asleep. This is an 8 year old boy who for some unknown reason decided to crawl into a small, confined space and fall asleep. I don't think there are any air holes or ventilation. I can't explain why I opened the coffee table since it wasn't a logical place to look for a boy, except I thank God for leading me there.
Some days am not quite sure what I'm doing, or why I'm doing it, but one thing I do know. I know who to go to when I don't know. Isn't that at least a tiny seedling of wisdom?
Great stories!
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