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CHAPTER 1
God's Plans Aren't Always Our Plans
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"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."
— Jeremiah 29:11
Mornings are always hectic when you have a teenage daughter. "Did you eat breakfast?" "Do you have your backpack?" "Did you grab your homework?" "We need to get going." "Do you need lunch money?" "Are you staying for biology tutorials this afternoon?" "We're going to be late!" It's always rush out the door, jump in the car, and hit the end of the driveway in seconds flat. Nothing can stop us now.
Did I say nothing? Let me take a moment here to say my youngest daughter, Sydney, shares my love of dogs. Actually, her love far surpasses mine because it encompasses just about every animal roaming the earth. So, of course, when we saw the pitiful little dog in the bar ditch across the street, we knew we would both be late that day. He seemed extremely timid, scared of anything and everything that crossed his path. We quickly devised a plan: we would see if we could successfully coax him into the car, then I would take him to work to try to find a home for him. (Fortunately for me, my office was filled with like-minded lovers of dogs.)
Sydney got out of the car and cautiously crossed the street, trying not to startle the poor guy too much. As she began her approach, he was planning his escape, slowly turning to trot away from her. She knew if she tried to pursue him, he might become more frightened and run into the street to face the morning traffic. So she aborted the mission and returned to the car. At least we tried.
The next evening, I was in the bedroom getting things ready for the following day when I heard my husband, Ken, calling to me from the kitchen. We met halfway between the two rooms, and in his arms, I saw a dirty lump of white fur, speckled with tiny brown dots. "Look what I found," was all he said as he turned to make his way to the back porch. It was the terrified dog Sydney and I had attempted to rescue the day before. Ken explained, "I was out closing up the barn and saw something crawling up to me real slow. As soon as he got close enough, he just rolled over at my feet and looked up at me as if to say, 'Just put me out of my misery.' Saddest thing I ever saw. Snuck up on me like a little ghost." I named him Casper, after the friendly ghost.
Turns out the tiny brown dots were fleas — hundreds of them. We found a number of ticks feeding on his undernourished body, several of them inside his ears. His pads were dry and cracked and looked like they would be painful to walk on. We put a soft blanket on the porch for him to sleep on, filled bowls with food and water, and gave him shelter for the night. The next morning we got him cleaned up, gave him a flea and tick treatment, and took him to the vet for vaccinations. We wanted to make sure he was in tip-top shape so we could try to re-home him; I was entrusted with this daunting task.
Now, because Ken knew when he married me what he was getting himself into, I believe he also knew when he carried that baby dog into our home that night, it would become a part of our family. So he couldn't have been surprised when I announced I had found a forever home for Casper — ours!
We didn't need another dog. At the time, we had three perfectly good dogs already. But what Casper didn't have — and desperately needed — was a perfectly good family. Here, one of the sweetest animals on the planet had been discarded like yesterday's trash. We don't know how he came to be alone on the streets, but he did. We don't know what caused him to approach Ken that night, but he did. We don't know why he chose our family, but he did. Of course, I have always seen it as divine intervention. Yes, I believe God planned for Casper to cross our path — in his perfect timing — so that he would be ensured a future with a loving family.
When we face uncertain times, we can hold on to the knowledge that God wants no harm to befall us. He has plans for us, plans to prosper us and give us hope and a future — even the very least of us.
CHAPTER 2
Storms of Life
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Don't panic. I'm with you. There's no need to fear for I'm your God. I'll give you strength. I'll help you. I'll hold you steady, keep a firm grip on you.
— Isaiah 41:10 (MSG)
The sound of thunder rumbling in the night brought me to a place of semi-consciousness. Though I had not opened my eyes, I could clearly see the heaven-orchestrated laser light show through closed eyelids. Each thunder clap was accompanied by a tremor that shook the entire house. Ah, summer storms in Texas. And this was going to be a good one.
As parents of older children — five out on their own and only one teenager living at home — it's been years since severe thunderstorms have drawn a child to the sanctuary of our bedroom during the night. Surely this night would be no different. And yet, I had the sense something, or rather someone, was watching me.
Rolling over to face the bank of windows, I slowly opened my eyes. There beside the bed, backlit by the glow of continual lightning strikes, head barely visible above the height of the mattress, sat Bexar. Sweet baby Bexar, now four-and-a-half years old, is by far the most gentle, loving, loyal dog in all of creation. A mix of German shepherd and Labrador retriever, he was blessed with only the most endearing qualities of each breed — along with a healthy dose of storm anxiety. His fear of thunder and lightning doesn't cripple him; he doesn't destroy things or pace the floor or cry. He just wants to know that whatever happens, he will be surrounded by his family and that we will weather the storms together.
Those frightened, expectant eyes staring at me in the darkness of night reminded me so much of the days past when my children would come running in, seeking security. What choice did I have? I patted the bed and offered an invitation for him to join us. And just like those children, he quickly accepted, snuggling in between me and Ken as we stroked his fur and gave him the assurances he needed that everything was going to be all right.
We encounter many storms throughout life — and not just of the thunder and lightning variety. How about the shaky economy storm? Or the sketchy job market storm? Or my personal favorite, the raising teenagers storm? All these scenarios are just as frightening to this grown woman as a thunderstorm is to a small child (or dog). The storms of life are inevitable. But we never have to face them alone, and we certainly are not meant to fear. God tells us as plain as day, "Don't panic, I'm with you" (Isaiah 41:10 MSG).
Bexar's anxiety reminds me that I can always trust the promises God has made to me. If I do, as sure as Bexar finds comfort in the arms of his family, I will find comfort in the arms of God.
CHAPTER 3
Give Me Ears to Hear
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The Lord said, "Go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by." Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper.
— 1 Kings 19:11–12
I am always amazed at the superior hearing our dogs have been gifted with. They can decipher the sound of Ken's truck when he comes home in the evenings before I can even see it approaching. And there is no chance of the kids sneaking in past curfew because the dogs alert us long before they get a hand on the front door knob. I do notice, however, that sometimes their hearing seems to fail them. Take Bexar, for instance. He loves to be outside, lying in the cool grass, taking in the fresh air, chasing squirrels and grasshoppers. When it's time to come in, we go to the door and call him, but sometimes those superkeen ears don't seem to be working properly. He usually gets a couple of chances to make things right before we have to get down to business and grab the whistle. One long blast on the whistle and here he comes a-running. It seems like he may suffer from a condition many of us humans refer to as "selective hearing."
On the other hand, Dixie doesn't seem to be afflicted with a hearing deficiency. Generally speaking, you just have to get the "D" out, and she is at your side in a flash. But it's not just our voices that she responds to instantly. Contrary to some of the opinions within our home, Dixie is a very intelligent dog. She learns quickly and remembers assigned cues well. For instance, when I am shutting down the computer for the evening, as soon as she hears the beep signaling that Windows is closing, she gets up and stands at the door to wait for me. She associates that sound with my leaving the room.
Let me give you a little insight into the mind of Dixie Anne Simmons. First, she is my dog. No one else in the house will have her. She is a two-year-old Weimaraner and is true to her breed in every way: hyperactive, high strung, territorial, loyal to a fault, seemingly constructed of Velcro, the whole nine yards. She is also a canine vacuum when it comes to food. (I'm sure this is genetic since I, too, love to eat!) Here's where her supersonic hearing comes into play.
Let's assume we've enjoyed a fun-filled day of activity at the lake and have returned home with dogs that are completely worn out. They come in the house, quench their thirst, and hit the tile floor to crash for hours. Dixie curls up like a delicate little fawn on her bed by the bay window. She's out cold in seconds flat. How do we know this? Because she snores like a grizzly bear! An hour or so into her nap, my husband makes his way to the kitchen for a snack. He opens the pantry, rummages through the assortment of items up for grabs, selects a honey bun — or something of equal nutritional value — and opens the wrapper. In a flash, Dixie is wide awake, racing into the kitchen to convince her daddy to share his goodies with her. Mind you, she was in a coma just thirty seconds ago, and the kitchen pantry is a good ten yards from the dog bed. Yet she heard that faint rustling of paper and responded. Instantly. This is the sound Dixie longs to hear each and every day. It beckons her to come, and come she does because she associates the sound with something good.
Just like Dixie, I need to have ears to hear God calling me and the desire to respond to his call instantly. His still, small voice speaks to me daily, but if I don't listen for it, I will miss it. And in missing God's call, I also miss the "something good" that is associated with it.
CHAPTER 4
Excuse Me, but Isn't It Time to Eat?
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There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.
— Ecclesiastes 3:1
Who among us doesn't love a well-organized schedule? You know, the kind that keeps you on task each and every day. Without fail, it reminds you to do exactly what needs to be done at the precise moment it is required. Some people keep track of their daily activities by consulting a traditional, notebook-style organizer, such as a Day-Timer or Day Runner. There are those who are more technologically advanced, preferring to utilize the calendar on their smart phone or enlisting the aid of one of any number of available apps. And still there are a few who would rather take a more personal approach to maintaining their appointments. These people pick up the phone and call their spouse. "Honey, was I supposed to pick Johnny up from basketball practice today?"
To each his own, I guess. Me? I use a DayWeimer. Because Dixie has such a precise internal clock, I can pretty much set my schedule around her. I don't even own a watch anymore. She is generally accurate to within five minutes in either direction. Here's how it works:
My day begins with her jumping onto the bed, as delicately as eighty-five pounds of Weimaraner can bound onto a bed. She eases over to rest her chin on my shoulder and looks at me with those eyes that say, "Excuse me, but isn't it time to eat breakfast?" I look over at the clock on the nightstand that reads six o'clock and confirm that it is, indeed, time to eat breakfast. So we get out of bed, eat our morning meal, and start knocking out items on our to-do list.
After loading up the list with several check marks (who among us doesn't love checking off things we've completed throughout the day?) and typically when I am in the middle of a project that requires a great deal of concentration, I feel a cold, wet nose nudging my elbow. It finally pushes my arm out of the way, allowing just enough clearance for a little Weimer chin to rest on my thigh. Again, those eyes: "Excuse me, but isn't it time to eat lunch?" Sure enough, the clock on the computer shows midday, high noon, lunch time. Obviously, we must stop what we're doing to enjoy the afternoon meal together so we can then return our focus to the list.
Eventually, it's time to clean up my mess and put away my toys for the day. And exactly how do I know when it's time to do this? My DayWeimer alerts me when it is five o'clock, on the dot. She uses what we refer to as the "Velcro dog" move to get my attention. She quietly sidles up to me and ever so slowly eases her weight against my legs. It's not enough pressure to knock me over, just enough to make me aware that there's a Weimaraner stuck to my leg. What do I see when I look down at her? You guessed it, her "Excuse me, but isn't it time to eat supper?" eyes. And because she's right, we do.
There are instances when her clock is running a little fast, and she tries to give the signal too early. In those cases, she gets an unfavorable response: "Not yet ... just wait a little longer." She puts on her pouty face and dramatically plops into her chair or bed and proceeds to stare at me until it is time to eat again.
Every day we go through these motions, and every day it's as if I'm seeing my reflection in a mirror. All too often I catch myself nudging God's hand, nosing my way into his lap and saying, "Excuse me, but isn't it time for me to have this thing?" or "Isn't it time for you to give me that thing?" or "Isn't it time for this thing to happen?" Occasionally, we are in agreement, and the thing I ask of him is granted, but that is not always the case. More often than not, I get what I consider to be an unfavorable response: "Not yet ... just wait a little longer." A lot of times, I take this news pretty hard. I may even whine about it for a while, sometimes for a very long while. But deep down inside, I know that God's timing is always perfect and that I will never miss out on a golden opportunity if I'm waiting on him.
While I may know in my head there is a time for everything, God alone knows when that appointed time is. And like Dixie, sometimes I have to be patient and "just wait a little longer."
CHAPTER 5
Whatcha Thinkin' About?
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Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable — if anything is excellent or praiseworthy — think about such things.
— Philippians 4:8
From the day we brought Dixie into our home, we noticed that she had a constant, voracious appetite. She could clean a bowl in seconds flat. Seriously, our son timed her one day. She finished two heaping cups of dry kibble in seventeen seconds.
We knew we wanted her to get accustomed to being on the same feeding schedule as the other dogs, so we added her bowls to the lineup each morning and evening. Unfortunately, that didn't seem to work for her. We tried increasing the number of meals she received each day and decreasing the amount of food per meal. We assumed that by receiving the same amount of food, but with less waiting time between meals, she wouldn't feel famished all the time. Not so. It didn't seem to matter how much we fed her or how frequently it was offered, she just could not get full.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "All Creatures"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Elizabeth Simmons.
Excerpted by permission of Morgan James Publishing.
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