I’d lie motionless on the ground, too.
It was just another morning for Ella. We got up, and let her in from her evening of slumber on the back patio. Always excited at the first sight of humanity, she wiggled into the house, and went straight for the laundry room door — behind which lies the stash of chicken jerky treats she equates with the morning’s first contact.
But today would be different. You see, dogs can’t have anything to eat for 12 hours prior to surgery. So, this would be her first disappointment of the morning.
A ride in the car? “Fabulous” she must have thought. And it was…at least at the beginning. I took Ella to a wonderland, where dozens of dogs and cats were in the same room, some on leashes, some in boxes, all with exotic scents and unfamiliar barks and meows. While we waited, we even got to take a 20-minute walk, which took us by grocery stores, different plants, several humans. “Is this heaven?” We returned to the Fantasyland of the veterinary clinic, and soon thereafter Ella’s name was announced. Her ears went up, tail started wagging, and she found herself in a back room, with strangers calling her by name, and patting her vigorously.
Then, a quick injection to the neck. “Things are getting a bit blurry. My master is leaving. I’m in a small box – I can smell the other animals, but can’t get to them. I’m getting sleepy. What’s going on?” After a long wait, she is injected again. Upon awakening, she’s still in the cage, has a shaved tummy, stitches around her swollen belly, and she’s loopy from the medication. “Something has gone terribly wrong here.”
If Ella and I could talk, and I tried to explain to her why this had to happen, what would I tell her? “I know it hurts now, but you’ll be glad we did this.” Why will she be glad? “Count it a blessing, Ella, that you can no longer reproduce.” Hmmm…somehow, I think what she’s going through has more to do with we Hartley humans enjoying OUR lives than Ella enjoying hers. Rather than experience anything positive out of this, Ella has been denied a highly instinctual passion to have pups someday. Truth be told, Ella just took one for the team.
So, I pick her up…I, the very demon who took her to this place to begin with. I take her to the very car that transported her to the scene of the crime. I take her back home…and I STILL can’t give her a chicken jerky – doctor’s orders.
And here’s where Ella disciples me yet again. I’m realizing again that, well, dogs just don’t get bitter. They don’t hold grudges. No matter what happened that day, she still saw me, and wagged her tail. She still wanted my company more than anything in the world (except maybe the jerky). I guess she is simply incapable of letting that one day’s worth of events nullify what she has come to appreciate over the past months. My anesthetized pooch, despite her awful circumstances, is at peace.
God has so much going on. The circumstances of billions of people weave in and out of his sovereign mind, and everyone seems to think that, to a degree, they are the most important person on the planet. We all tend to pray out of our self-interest, with very little consideration the fact that, on occasion, God might need for us to “take one for the team” — experience something that, to us, seems totally negative, with absolutely no silver lining — all for the ultimate good of others, and ultimately for God to be glorified most profoundly by his creation. When these circumstances happen to us, we often say things like, “I’m so mad at God right now!” Or, “How could there be a God who could let this happen?” Some of us cease believing in God’s goodness. Many of us are inclined to stay away from God rather than seek Him more. We question his care, even His sovereignty. Because we just can’t see it from His perspective…only from ours.
Could I, even if I find myself bruised, scarred, frustrated and confused, remain eager to embrace the Master, choose His company, and bring Him my affection rather than a grudge?
Ella believes I am still good. Do I believe God is still good?
