Sometimes we think the best thing we can do is hide. We are too afraid to trust, too fearful to respond to love.
It was an interesting two weeks in our house. After our second dog died, we planned to make it through the winter. We wanted to save a little money.
That’s what we had planned.
But the void left by the loss of our dog was too great a hole to fill. I combed every animal shelter and rescue in a 100-mile radius. We loaded up multiple times to meet a possible next member of the family, only to have our hopes dashed. Too hyper. Too big. Too yippy.
And then we found her. Originally rescued when she was just weeks old, this girl had already seen a lot. We met her in an incredibly cramped shelter, and she looked at us with such fear in her eyes, her small body quivering. But she let our kids pet her, and when we held her she put her head down and rested in both my husband’s and my arms.
That was enough for me.
Upon entering our home, she immediately found refuge in our back hall. But she was tucked away from the chaos of our family of six, terrified. We tried everything: squeaky toys, mouth-watering treats, soft voices, and slow movements. I just kept thinking: C’mon, pup. We just want to love you. Your life will be so great. Yet in my heart I knew: There’s a reason they call these dogs “rescues.”
But our family of animal lovers was desperate to love her, to welcome her with open arms, empty laps, and table scraps passed under the table. If she only knew.
Sitting there one night across the kitchen floor, treat in hand and desperation in my face, I whispered, “Just trust me to love you.”
And that’s when I remembered his voice in my own: Just trust me, my child. I will meet your every need. I already love you with an everlasting, unconditional love and am just waiting for you to let me show you.
Is my lack of trust in the love and provision of God really that much different than this pup and me?
Why the resistance to a God who just wants to love me?
The first five months of this dog’s life had been filled with change and uncertainty. It was all she knew. Similarly, all we know here on earth is the human kind of love—the kind that disappoints and fails us.
But with our heavenly Father it’s different.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love” (Jeremiah 31:3).
“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).
God’s love is not dependent on anything we do or don’t do. He gives it freely, needing nothing from us in return.
But yet our human minds have a difficult time understanding this perfect love, a love that fulfills every need and expectation.
He’s standing there. Waiting. Arms outstretched, asking us to trust him. And unlike any earthy relationship, he will not disappoint. His love never fails.
So go. Run to him. His love is waiting to fill you with joy.
Melissa Kreuser is a member at Bethlehem, Menomonee Falls, Wisconsin.
This article is adapted and reprinted with permission from holyhenhouse.com
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Author: Melissa Kreuser
Volume 105, Number 2
Issue: February 2018
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