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.
I was taking Max, our Schnauzer, to Judy, a friend who keeps him when we are gone. Max is old now. His twin brother, Baylor, died several years ago, but Max is hanging on. He shakes uncontrollably when I put him in our car.
When he was younger, he and Baylor would climb all over the back seat when I took them to Judy or the groomer. They couldn’t understand that our friend, Judy, loves them as much as we do or that the groomer would take care of them.
Pulling the rear-view mirror down, I would watch them as they nervously hopped from seat to floorboard, anxiously glancing out the back window, then back down at the floorboard, then at me, then at each other, then back to the window. Even when they managed to sit in one place, they would hover, like prisoners in a transport bus on their way to an undisclosed facility, shifting from hip to haunch.
Of course, their destination was no mystery to Lori or me. I would even tell them where I was taking them and what was going to 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. You are in for a treat.”
Of course, my words fell on deaf ears; you see, we weren’t speaking the same language. For them, the routine was new every time we took it.
Once they were at Judy’s, they would settle down and relax. All was well.
Here’s where the dogs’ lives and mine intersect: we both get nervous about events we could otherwise enjoy. Like me, they forget what a wonderful life they have.
The Lord is taking me on a journey. I don’t know all the details: will everything be okay? How will people there perceive me? Will they love and accept me as people do at home? Will I be safe? What if I forgot something?
I shake, at least emotionally, glancing out the window for familiar terrain, mentally hopping from the familiar to the unfamiliar in a skittish twitter. I may try listening to soothing songs 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 gently nudges me: “Stop worrying, you silly. Can’t you see I’ve got this?”
God expects me to do something my dogs can’t: walk by faith.
I think of God calling the biblical figure Abraham to leave. 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 will absolutely love. So, relax and enjoy the journey.”
“Look there,” I would tell Max and Baylor, “you’re at ‘Aunt’ Judy’s.” Once in her arms, they would relax, then jump up and down and hop all around in joy.
Or when I would pick them up from the groomer, they would wrap their paws around me, hugging me, their little dog bodies all shiny and clean.
And so it is for us in Jesus Christ: all clean, well, and better than brand new. At last, we’re ready for a Forever with our Lord. It’s all joy.
And so, I can breathe deeply, relax, and think to myself, “What a wonderful life.”