When Change Is Ruff

Anyone who knows me knows I love my dogs. Tinkerbell is a sweet, undelicate little flower who was rescued from a dog fighting round-up. She made herself right at home from the day she arrived. She has since come to dominate just about everything -- the backyard and any suicidal or unsuspecting alien animals who wander into her backyard, the idle hands and feet of anyone who visits and is unaware of the "You Must Scratch Me" rule, and Bishop. Bishop came to us from a neighbor who could no longer keep him. I was pretty nervous about adding another dog to the mix, especially one like Bishop -- he's a pretty intimidating little guy. I had no idea how he would react to Tinkerbell, or to virtual strangers trying to tell him what to do, or to our children -- some of whom were still fairly young. What I came to realize was Bishop was probably more nervous than any of us; he wasn't the terrible, vicious creature I'd imagined him to be. As a matter of fact, a year or two into this little venture, Tinkerbell gave Bishop such a "what for" I thought somebody was going to have to go. (I volunteered.) Instead, I made a commitment to regularly exercising the dynamic duo, and working on some strategies and disciplines for gaining better control over them. We became known around the neighborhood, and the next neighborhood, and the next neighborhood. We walked daily and we walked far. If there's anything I love more than my dogs, it's walking my dogs.

Several months ago, Bishop developed osteoarthritis. Our walks were officially over. Taking Tinkerbell without taking Bishop seemed like some sort of sacrilege to me. I thought of all the new winter walking gear I'd just purchased at the end of last season. I thought of the pounds I'd pack on without that exercise. I thought of the people we'd met along the way, and the people we'd miss. I thought of the days I'd spent praying as we walked for each yard of ground in our neighborhood or the folks who lived along our route. Why had these things been taken away? 

But as time passed, more changes occurred. I have discovered a new place and a new routine for me to walk and, as a result, new relationships have developed -- and my winter walking gear won't go to waste! The people I knew from our old walks are still there. In fact, I have intentionally stopped on my way to and from errands to see some of them -- an act that says our previous encounters weren't just accidental or obligatory, but are relationships that are important to me. I still pray for them as I drive past their homes, and I can still pray for my neighborhood. Without our hours of walking, I've found myself with more time to talk to the neighbors right on my block. There are some interesting relationships within sight of my front door! (What's even more of a marvel is that any of this would mean anything to me -- but that's a story for another day.)

I don't know if any of you are struggling with "good things" being gone, or wondering why God has moved you from an area of ministry that truly meant something to you, but God has a plan -- He always does. There is nothing that happens without His knowledge and -- if you are His child -- without His goodness and blessing in the outcome. Trust what He will do for you, and continue to seek Him. Sooner or later, You will see His generosity and wisdom even when change is r-ruff!