If we aren’t intentional, we’ll let the fear of the destination ruin the joy of the journey. We miss out on the wonderful life stretching before us.
My two Schnauzers were shaking and panting uncontrollably in the back seat of my car like they always do when I take them anywhere. This time, we were on our way to our friend, Judy, who loves them like we do and keeps them on occasion when we leave town.
I have a little ditty I’ve made up just for my dogs as we travel along. I sing; they shake. Pulling the rear-view mirror down, I watch them as they hop from seat to floorboard. They anxiously glance out the back window, then down at the floorboard, then at me, then at each other, then back to the window. Even when they manage to sit in one place, they hover, like prisoners in a transport bus being sent to an undisclosed facility, shifting from hip to haunch.
It doesn’t take a canine psychologist to ascertain they are nervous. So, my wife or I sometimes give them a stress tablet before carrying them to the car.
Of course, their destination is no mystery to Lori or me. I even tell them where I’m taking them and what will happen: “You’re going to the groomer today. It’s your spa day.” Or, “You get to see Judy today. She’ll spoil you rotten. Aren’t you in for a treat.”
Of course, my words fall deaf on their doggie ears; we don’t speak the same language. For them, the routine is new every time we take it.
Dogs do remember, just in different ways than we humans do. A study by Stockholm University has found that dogs typically forget something less than two minutes after it happens. But our canine friends have associative memories like when you get their leash ready for a walk, they get excited. I’ve tried coupling our travel time with something positive, like a treat rather than my song. It doesn’t work. They’re too nervous to eat. “Spa Day” and “Judy Day” are too infrequent to be embedded in their memory bank.
Now, once they are there, at the groomer or Judy’s, they settle down and relax. All is well.
Here’s where my dogs’ lives and mine intersect: we both get nervous about events we could enjoy.
The Lord takes me on an unknown journey to an undisclosed location. I shake, at least emotionally, glancing out the window for familiar terrain, hopping from the familiar to the unfamiliar in a skittish twitter. I may try listening to songs that soothe or reading the Psalms that reassure. But if the way is too mysterious and frightful, I can’t hear for all my inner chatter: “Where is this going? Who will be there? How will I know it’s going to be okay?”
Finally, somewhere along the way, I hear the Lord’s calm but powerful voice, “David, BE STILL, and know that I AM God.” The Lord is gently nudging me: “Stop worrying, you silly. Can’t you see it’s a spa day?”
God expects me to do something my dogs can’t: walk by faith.
I think of God calling the biblical character, Abraham, to leave and go. Where? Just go, Abraham. And Abraham went, “not knowing where he was going” (Hebrews 11:8).
It might be a new school, another job, a relationship, or another phase of life, and even the final step into the ultimate mystery: death.
“I’m taking you to Someone and Someplace only I know but one you nonetheless will love. So, relax and enjoy the journey.”
“Look there,” I tell Max and Baylor, “you’re at ‘Aunt’ Judy’s.” They jump up and down and hop all around in joy.
Or picking them up at the groomer, they wrap their paws around me, hugging me, their little dog bodies having been made all shiny and clean and well and whole.
And I think to myself, “What a wonderful life.”