A few years after we got Jasmine, we started to notice that another dog kept showing up in our backyard. Every time, we would lead her back out of the fence, and every time, she would find her way back in. Eventually, we decided to just let her stay. She didn't have a collar, and she seemed a little malnourished, so we assumed that she may have been mistreated. She was ecstatic when she realized we were letting her stay, and that happiness showed every time we went outside. She would jump all over us and try to lick our faces.
What we hadn't considered was that Princess, as she had now been named, was pregnant. She was so skinny that we never noticed. One day we came home and there were three puppies lying with her under the dog house. The next morning, two more showed up. One of them was so cute that we had to keep her. And that's how we got Hershey.
To this day, Princess never fails to show her appreciation and trust in us. She barely sees us through a window and she perks up, ready to run to the door the second we move toward it. She always wants to be as close to us as possible whenever she can.
That's the thing about dogs. For most of them, you show them one act of kindness and suddenly they love you with everything they have. Their lives revolve around you, and they want to show you how much they appreciate you at every opportunity.
Children are like that, too. Not exactly in the same way, but they also have this trust in people that can come from only a few encounters, sometimes even less. They're nonjudgmental, seeing all people the same (which is why we have to teach them the "stranger danger" rule occasionally). But sometimes, they surprise us.
My boss' daughter once overheard her mom talking to someone who was helping remodel our library. She heard him talking about how he was struggling to find another job after he got done with this one. That night, it was her turn to pray at the dinner table, and she prayed for him. The next day, my boss told the man what her daughter had prayed for. He seemed a little skeptical but appreciated the gesture. However, he found her the next day and told her about how he had gotten a call about a new job opportunity that would be really good for him. He looked at my boss and said, "Tell your daughter: prayers work."
It sometimes baffles me how just one small act from a child can change someone's life. It's incredible. It also makes me wonder: if a little girl is willing to pray for a complete stranger, why can't I bring myself to pray for even the people closest to me?
We all know that stereotypical phrase that's been drilled into us born-and-raised Christians since we can remember: "I'll be praying for you." But often times I find myself using that as a habitual response. Just a "yeah, I hear what you have to say, and I'm sorry you're going through that", not an actual genuine promise.
Lately I've been thinking about the innocence of children. And dogs, I guess, even though that sounds kind of weird. They both are willing to put trust in someone based on how much love is shown to them, even if it's just giving them a toy or providing them with food and shelter.
If they can trust in someone with so little, why is it so hard for me to put my trust in a God who sent His own son to die for me? I mean, that's no small act, that's the act to beat all other acts. And yet, as I've grown older, it almost seems to get harder.
My dad mentioned that when he was a kid, he used to think that the reason we're taught to close our eyes during prayers is because Jesus would literally come into the room, and we weren't supposed to see him. He even remembers peeking through his fingers occasionally to see if he could spot Jesus.
Me? I find it hard to close my eyes and sit still for more than a minute. I eventually have to open my eyes once in a while, sway back and forth if I'm standing up, my fingers even start to twitch sometimes. And it's not because I think there's some heavenly force in the room. It's because I'm impatient. Half the time I'm pretty sure I'm not even paying attention to the prayer. I'm losing the true meaning behind the act of closing our eyes, folding our hands, and sitting still.
Jesus once scolded his disciples for not letting the little children approach him, saying "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these." In my Bible, this is what the little devotional thought said about this particular passage:
"Adults are not as trusting as little children. To feel secure, all children need is a loving look and gentle touch from someone who cares. Complete intellectual understanding is not one of their requirements. They believe us if they trust us. Jesus said that people should believe in him with this kind of childlike faith. We should not have to understand all the mysteries of the universe; it should be enough to know that God loves us and provides forgiveness for our sins."
If Princess can still show so much devotion for the people who had pity on her and gave her some food and a home, why can't I show my devotion for a God who has given me that and so much more? If my boss' daughter can show kindness to a man she had only met once, why do I sometimes neglect to do that myself?
I feel like I can't stress this enough in my posts: God loves us. He has provided for us since we weren't even on this earth yet. He has given us more than any of us could have ever asked for. So why do I still find it hard to trust Him? I'm pretty sure if Princess can basically devote her life to a few humans who showed her kindness, I can do the same.
Children make it look so easy. Adults tend to overthink things. A lot. But maybe if we approach things in a childlike fashion, our relationship with God can be so much stronger. After all, Jesus loves the little children.
And dogs, too.
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"Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it."
