It’s a classic story, really. We were never going to get a dog. But then it was a Monday afternoon and we were sitting around the dining room table with the afternoon light spilling through the our wide, old windows.
Let’s make a Christmas list.
They hemmed and hawed over a few small things.
What they really want is a dog. I said that to my husband.
And two weeks later there we were meeting Grover at an animal shelter.
It was a surprise, the kind we didn’t let slip until we were on the way to get him.
This dog. He’s still very much a puppy. He’s old enough to sleep through the night and be house-trained. But he’s still very much a puppy.
He’s big and doesn’t know it. He’s goofy. He’s adorable. He loves to be petted. We all love him. Very much.
He’s also got a bit of rascal in him.
I am learning that my own special brand of trying-to-get-everything-perfect-right-this-very-moment-or-else-it-is-a-failure crazy extends to this corner of my life, too.
Apparently God is not above using a dog to minister His grace to me.