I Could Do This All Night
My dog Daisy has a stubborn streak. You can see it in the defiant lift of her head.
Within the confines of our backyard fence, I am boss. She is completely obedient. But when we step out into the wide world, Daisy likes to tune me out.
There was a time when I used to walk her around the neighborhood without a leash. I’m not sure what happened, but the hound in her mutt blood must’ve won out and she started chasing anything with four legs and fur. Needless to say, she’s back under leash arrest. This doesn’t make me happy. I like it when she’s obedient so she can trot freely beside me, sniffing recycle bins and cat poop to her hearts content.
If she takes a #2 while I have her on the leash, I make her sit before I bend down to clean it up. Poo patrol is a nasty business made only worse by Daisy potentially jeopardizing my already klutzy center of gravity. So the other night after she took care of business, I told her to sit.
I tried to imitate a man’s deep voice and barked the command a few more times.
Nada. So I grabbed her by the snout and forced her to lock eyes with mine.
“Sit.” I said through clenched teeth.
The only movement she made was to try to wrestle her face out of my iron grip. I was ahead in the staring competition, but that was about it. Suddenly, I laughed. This was a battle of wills, and I was going to win.
“Oh girl,” I said. “I could do this all night.” Thankfully not long after, she waved her white flag.
I was consumed with the showdown for the remainder of our walk. I am often made aware of scary parallels between me and my dog and me and God. Only I’m Daisy and God takes my place.
In this particular parallel, I think God is happy when I’m obedient so I can trot freely beside Him. He takes no pleasure in placing me under leash arrest. But when I consistently tune Him out, what else can I expect? He knows if I chase the cat, I’ll end up at a very busy and dangerous highway that’s not to be trifled with.
Yet I continue to be stubborn once on the leash. He tells me to do something and I refuse. He locks eyes with mine and we engage in a battle of wills. He repeats His command—hopefully not through clenched teeth—and I look away.
“Oh daughter,” He says. “I could do this all night.”
He’s so right.
“My son, do not make light of the Lord’s discipline, and do not lose heart when he rebukes you, because the Lord disciplines those he loves, and he punishes everyone he accepts as a son.” Hebrews 12:5-6