He waits now. Before, almost two years ago, it was crazy.
I said “Yes” to a Christmas gift of a Labrador for a son who’d be leaving for college.
I lost all control. I did. My emotions of the transition I suppose, of my little boy, took over the reigns. The idea of a big, big dog in a house with an already sweet older little beagle getting older and moodier lady…
the one that was supposed to have been his, but, his sister had to take on the raising.
So, cold January , post-Christmas mornings, I’m out with him, I’d done my research he needs a routine, he needs to play, needs to run.
Cold mornings, kicking a basketball with rain boot covered feet, wrapped in my bathrobe as he ran from fence post to fence post.
We had a routine.
He was settling in. Over time, less chewed shoes, we needed a new screen door anyway.
Now, he’s my morning buddy. He is good and we sit. He waits. He looks out the window for the spot the 4Runner whips into when the college boy comes home. He looks every morning. He knows it will be soon.
He brings me the tennis ball. “Not yet, No sir.” I say, and he plops down beside my feet with a human like sigh of acceptance.
He understands. He waits.
I remember times I ran ahead of God’s sweet and sure control. I forced my way, tore up stuff and things, outcomes, fell onto the floor emotionally with hands clenched tightly into fists.
Then, I learned to wait. And waiting became routine.
Routine is good. Like Colt, the big brown dog, I’m good now…better, at least more quiet.
In returning and rest, shall you be saved; in quietness and trust shall be your strength. Isaiah 30:15