I watched the birth of a friendship this weekend. Whereas in past encounters the two parties merely observed each other with distant curiosity, a few days ago, one reached out to the other and bridged the gap that had existed between them. In an instant, a bond was forged.
Our five-month old granddaughter stretched out her little dimpled hand as she tried (in vain) to catch the tongue of our six-year old cockapoo. In that moment, everything changed between them. Marje (the dog) interpreted this gesture as one of friendship. This creature who had been nothing more than an interloper in Marje's world, a distraction that had stolen the attention that had previously been hers alone had just indicated that she wanted to play (at least that was obviously Marje's interpretation). Marje skittered out of the room and retrieved her ball. As my granddaughter sat on my lap, we threw the ball and watched Marje chase after it time and time again.
Later, long after the game of fetch was over, Marje spotted Doody (as her mother affectionately calls her), sprawled on her tummy across her momma's lap. She dashed out of the room again. Seconds later she trotted back in, tail raised, a bit of jauntiness in her step and the ball in her mouth. She went directly to my little five-month old cherub and dropped the ball in front of her, stepped back, wagging her tail in frantic anticipation and stared at this little human who's physical dexterity at this point in her life includes sucking, chewing on any and all objects that come anywhere near her mouth, grabbing, and rolling over. Throwing a ball for a dog is still several months away on the developmental chart, but Marje didn't know that.
It was pretty cute: Brooklyn's fascination. Marje's excitement over a new playmate. But the thought hit me - Marje believed that the baby had thrown the ball. Marje looked to the baby to do it again. If my daughter and I hadn't been in the room, Marje's hopes would have been dashed. She could wag her tail, bark, and wait expectantly for hours on end, but that wouldn't change the fact that Lil' B, at this point in her life, was not going to throw the ball.
I have to confess that I can be a lot like Marje. I often catch myself with my eyes on someone (or something) who holds no power. I catch myself eagerly expecting to find fulfillment or joy or peace in places that simply can't deliver the goods. It's impossible. Unlike my granddaughter who will eventually be able (and willing) to throw the ball for Marje, these people, these things, will never give me that for which I long - no matter the wait or how frantically I express my desires.
I like it like that. I may not like it at any given point in time, but in the end, when I realize what I've been doing, and I turn my gaze back towards God, I'm thrilled that He loves me enough to not let me be satisfied with anything or anyone less than Him. That's the way He made us, and that's exactly how it's supposed to be.
Our five-month old granddaughter stretched out her little dimpled hand as she tried (in vain) to catch the tongue of our six-year old cockapoo. In that moment, everything changed between them. Marje (the dog) interpreted this gesture as one of friendship. This creature who had been nothing more than an interloper in Marje's world, a distraction that had stolen the attention that had previously been hers alone had just indicated that she wanted to play (at least that was obviously Marje's interpretation). Marje skittered out of the room and retrieved her ball. As my granddaughter sat on my lap, we threw the ball and watched Marje chase after it time and time again.
Later, long after the game of fetch was over, Marje spotted Doody (as her mother affectionately calls her), sprawled on her tummy across her momma's lap. She dashed out of the room again. Seconds later she trotted back in, tail raised, a bit of jauntiness in her step and the ball in her mouth. She went directly to my little five-month old cherub and dropped the ball in front of her, stepped back, wagging her tail in frantic anticipation and stared at this little human who's physical dexterity at this point in her life includes sucking, chewing on any and all objects that come anywhere near her mouth, grabbing, and rolling over. Throwing a ball for a dog is still several months away on the developmental chart, but Marje didn't know that.
It was pretty cute: Brooklyn's fascination. Marje's excitement over a new playmate. But the thought hit me - Marje believed that the baby had thrown the ball. Marje looked to the baby to do it again. If my daughter and I hadn't been in the room, Marje's hopes would have been dashed. She could wag her tail, bark, and wait expectantly for hours on end, but that wouldn't change the fact that Lil' B, at this point in her life, was not going to throw the ball.
I have to confess that I can be a lot like Marje. I often catch myself with my eyes on someone (or something) who holds no power. I catch myself eagerly expecting to find fulfillment or joy or peace in places that simply can't deliver the goods. It's impossible. Unlike my granddaughter who will eventually be able (and willing) to throw the ball for Marje, these people, these things, will never give me that for which I long - no matter the wait or how frantically I express my desires.
I like it like that. I may not like it at any given point in time, but in the end, when I realize what I've been doing, and I turn my gaze back towards God, I'm thrilled that He loves me enough to not let me be satisfied with anything or anyone less than Him. That's the way He made us, and that's exactly how it's supposed to be.
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