After a great Sunday morning service, I arrived home and hurried through lunch anxious to settle into my recliner to indulge in one of my favorite Sunday afternoon pastimes—NASCAR Live. I hummed along misty eyed as Blake Shelton sang the national anthem, and I secretly yearned to be present when the track announcer called out the most famous words in motorsports…“Lady and Gentlemen, START YOUR ENGINES!” My pulse quickened as the angry pack of hotrods crowded the pace car off onto the infield and rocketed toward the start/finish line with enough ferocity to rip the checkered flag from the starter’s hand.
“Oh man, look out!” the announcer shouted, “They’re four wide going into turn one!” I tightened my grip on the recliner and leaned hard to the left. And then, as though on cue, I went from full throttle excitement to sleepy in less than two laps. My eye lids, as though operated by remote control, began to flutter, drooping lower as the sound of the race faded in and out of my consciousness.
This happens every Sunday. The circling of race cars hypnotizes me and Sunday drowsiness envelopes me like a London fog.
Confident these gas-jockeys were going to be at it for the next three hours, I opted for my second most favorite thing to do on Sunday afternoon—taking a nap. Mollie, my ten year old Boston terrier, anticipated my weekly routine and fell dutifully in step behind me as we shuffled toward the bedroom. It struck me as strange when Mollie, who usually springs onto the bed like an Olympic gymnast, hesitated several moments before clumsily clawing her way up and onto the bed. I thought, “Huh! She is almost ten years old—that’s seventy in doggie years,” attributing her extended effort to old age, a subject about which I’m developing some expertise.
I soon settled in, but she kept fidgeting, throwing her body one way and then the other, obviously unable to find a comfortable position. After long moments of tossing and turning, she sat up and let out a mournful cry—not a cry of pain, but an eruption of frustration. I’m not fluent in doggie language, but I’m pretty sure she swore.
I propped myself up on one elbow and asked her why she was so restless. When she furrowed her graying brow and limped toward me, I could see she was carrying her right hind leg, refusing to place any weight upon it. Like every dog lover, I dissolved into sympathy. Cooing her with comforting words, I gently massaged her hips hoping to find the source of her malady but found nothing out of the ordinary.
When I told Marilyn about her leg, she quickly recalled an incident from the previous day. A strange dog had entered our yard and Mollie, only aggressive in that situation, launched herself forward and sprinted at full speed toward the intruder. Marilyn said Mollie refused to be restrained, and it was all she could do to coax Mollie back into the house. Together, we agreed she must have hurt herself in her mad dash. Now twenty hours later, we surmised she was suffering from a pulled muscle. I planned to take her to the vet the following day, but thankfully, she was much better. And now several days later, she shows no signs of distress.
It’s easy, isn’t it, to see ourselves in Mollie’s over-reaction to a perceived threat? And, did you happen to notice, it was her response that injured her rather than the actual intruder? I can’t tell you how many times I’ve made that mistake. I over-react in the face of adversity and cause myself more grief than the problem itself. Have you ever done that?
The Apostle Paul must be reading my mail when he writes,
“…if you see that the job is too big for you, that it’s something only God can do, and you trust him to do it—you could never do it for yourself no matter how hard and long you worked—well, that trusting-him-to-do-it is what gets you set right with God, by God.” Romans 4:5 The Message
If my first reaction to difficulty is to wait and trust God to respond on my behalf, I believe I’ll more likely avoid ending up like Mollie, with self-inflicted injuries and cries of frustration.
Read Ron’s column, Simple Faith, each Saturday on the Faith Page (page 3) of the Lancaster Eagle Gazette, or visit www.lancastereaglegazette.com.