The little dog is an escape artist.  Well, not so much an artist as a fanatic.

She has a good-sized yard in which to roam; it having ample grass to roll in, dirt to dig in, and room to stretch out.  Plus, there’s always food and water waiting for her.  And yet, she is not content.

I have watched the little dachshund-mix canine run back and forth along the fence line with no other intent but to find a weakness, just the beginning of an opening to widen—first with her nose, then with her head—and slip out of.  She has all that big yard to run, but she wants the whole world instead.

Several times recently, I have called to her as she streaked away from our neighbor’s yard to freedom and she, friendly beast that she is, has come to my call, allowing me to pick her up and drop her down gently back into her assigned domain.

And then immediately, she has headed for the hole through which she squeezed earlier or has run for the incline she used as a launching ramp onto the stump next to the fence, jumping from there to freedom again.

She is not content.

In the midst of plenty, she wants more.  Surrounded by all she needs, including the loving attention of her owners, she would sacrifice it all for a few minutes of running free.

Foolish dog!  Danger awaits out there; hunger and terror from other animals.

I laugh at the silly thing, but then I remember.  Last week, I offered to help the dog’s owner with one problem area, next to the stump.  As I worked with the fencing to be anchored around the area, he, temporarily crippled with sciatica, hobbled up, leaning on his cane.  Gasping in pain, he bent over to help.

He couldn’t stand to have someone working in his yard and not be involved.  Even with his physical limitations, he just had to participate in the labor.

There was no need.  I had it handled.  He helped me to his physical detriment.

In my mind, I can’t help but compare the man and his dog.  Both are cared for and have no need of more, but both feel the need to do more, to push farther.

To their distinct disadvantage, they push the boundaries.

And, still laughing, I wonder at the foolishness of not resting in what has been provided.  Why are we—both animals and humans—like that?

But, my laughing is quieted as another memory pushes aside the scenes of the man and his dog.

Just last week, it was.  My grandchildren had come to visit, parents in tow (they will come along), and having an hour or so before a scheduled event, asked if they could have another go at the stump in the front yard.

“But, you can’t do any of the work, Grandpa! We don’t want you to hurt your back again.”

I agreed to oversee the job and stay out of their way.  With my mouth, I agreed.  My brain and heart didn’t follow suit, apparently.  After several minutes of standing and making suggestions of locations for chopping and prying, I could take it no longer.

“Let me take a whack or two at that!”

I swung the mattock a number of times (I don’t remember if it was three or twenty) and soon we had most of the above-ground part of the stump out.

I haven’t had many pain-free moments since.

There was no reason for me to swing that tool—not even once!  The labor was freely provided; the task would have been finished handily without me.

My grandchildren were there, not only to provide labor; they were there to be a wall of protection.

And, I stepped out from behind that wall.  Because of my pride.  Stubbornness, too.  But, mostly pride.

What is it the Proverb says?  “Pride goes before excruciating pain and a haughty spirit before the need to lean on a cane for support.”

No.  That’s not quite right, but the result seems to be the same.  The man who says I don’t need help—or, I know better than anyone else—is asking for pain and suffering.  (Read Proverbs 16:18, for the true version)

Our Creator gives us boundaries—and He provides us with safe places and helpers—for our benefit.  It’s not to punish us.  The fences are there to give us safety.

One might expect the shenanigans from the little dog.  While they can be smart for the animal kingdom, they’re mostly no match for humans in the logic department.  Mostly.  Sometimes, I’m not so sure.

I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever be able to say with the Apostle who loved to write letters, “I am content.  Whatever condition and wherever it is that God has me, I am content.”  (Philippians 4:11, my paraphrase)

Like the little dog, the fences gall me.  They mock me, almost.

But, I’m learning to rest.  And, to trust.

He wants good for us.  Really.

Good.

With Him, we are safe.  In His strong and loving arms, we can rest.

I may finally be learning my lesson.  My neighbor, too.  Time will tell.

I’m remembering the days when I used to call my father and let him know I was concerned for his well-being.  He would often quote Psalm 16:6 to me to reassure me.

Perhaps, I need to claim it for myself in these days of learning to be content behind the fence.

“The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
    surely I have a delightful inheritance.“

I’m not sure about the little dog, but I’ve got an idea she’s going to be all right, as well.

 

“In peace I will lie down and sleep,
    for you alone, Lord,
    make me dwell in safety.” (Psalm 4:8, NIV)

“We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we’re wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.” (C.S. Lewis)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2024. All Rights Reserved.