The recent rain melted all the snow that had been around for a while now. So, yesterday, Amos was once again confronted by his greatest fear: GREEN grass. In this case, it was worse: the grass was wet.
I am not sure why it is that his fear grows exponentially when he does not have to confront it on a daily basis. It is as if Amos was caught completely off guard yesterday morning when he walked to the top of the back steps and saw the great expanse of white had disappeared. Even though he had not seen to his needs all night, it was all I could do to get him to go down the stairs just to relieve his bladder. He did so by standing where the sidewalks crossed, so all four legs were planted firmly on concrete.
Throughout the day, Amos did his growly, whining bark that signals his greater need. However, he simply could not bring himself to walk upon the grass. In fact, he did not even make his circuit of flower beds and stepping stones. Amos just stood there, staring at the grass, and turned back to the safety of the steps.
Because, as I have written before, I am trying to take a position of no more force ... really with anyone ... I let Amos head on up to bed without tending to his major business. After all, I was certain biology would over-ride his fear.
But fear is a strange thing. I am not sure it is really definable, being chameleon in nature. Nor do I believe anyone clearly understands the power it can wield. When it came time to tend to his needs after breakfast this morning, Amos, again, refused to go near the grass.
This time, I refused to let him come back inside. I had only been asleep for 3 hours and was hoping for another eight before the game. It was the hardest thing I have done of late. And I am not sure I was right. I just knew I would not be able to make it through hours of begging to go outside, being to afraid to do what was needed, coming back inside, and begging to go outside an hour or so later. I had to sleep when I could because of the near constant pain in my head.
I thought I was right.
I fear I was wrong.
Amos was terrified. After fifteen minutes, I had to fetch the squirt bottle and spray him right in the face as he repeatedly tried to scramble atop my shoulders. Over and over and over again, I carried him to the center of the grass only to have race back to the safety of the sidewalk, trembling from nose to tail. After 45 minutes of implacability on my part, Amos finally managed to take two steps onto the grass and relieve his bowels. Almost before I could blink my puppy dog was back inside the house, still trembling.
Once back in bed, Amos grabbed Flower Baby and glued himself to my chest. Breathing with a 22.5 pound puppy dog on one's chest is difficult, but doing so with a stuffed dog toy smashed between your face and your puppy's is practically impossible.
Amos knew what he needed to calm down. He needed his face pressed against his two greatest loves and to have every part of his person plastered to mine. I tried to shift him to my side several times, but eventually gave up, waiting until he moved there on his own ... his body finally still.
When we got out of bed at 2:00 this afternoon, Amos, again, stuck to the corners of the sidewalk. I am not sure what I will do if he cannot tend to his bowels again. If his fears fell him.
Being oft felled myself, I spend much time pondering fear.
God created us with emotions. Clearly, even they were affected by the fall. Life in the garden was not proscribed by shame or anger or deceit before our foe struck his blow against creation. Before man made that fateful choice about what to do with the faith given to him.
But the thing I cannot quite wrap my mind around is that we are told to fear God. And then we are told to be not afraid. Both are present in Holy Scriptures. Both are good, right, and salutary for God's creation. To fear and to not fear.
Back in my evangelical days, fear of God was taught as respect. For the most part, I gave such not another thought. However, fear and respect are not synonymous. As an ex-literacy professor, I understand and value the meaning of words. I believe declaring "it's merely a matter of semantics" is one of the most specious lies we can tell. A beach is not a shore. Nor is a shore a coast line. Though they can be related, how each of these is used matters. Sometimes it is a subtly of meaning that we are--in my opinion--too lazy to either discern or appreciate. The original character limit to texting and the launch of Twitter, with its own character limit on individual tweets, really were death blows to written communication. It is easier to be lazy about language, about words, about communication.
Having not a theological degree, I cannot, at this point, really say what it means when we are called to fear God. I believe respect is a part of that meaning, but surely it also is wrapped up with acknowledging and understanding and submitting to God's power and majesty and justice because of an intimate awareness of our own sin and what that sin deserves us. Some glimpse of the chasm between what God gives to us and all that we do, daily, to stand against Him, to reject Him, to chose the way of the world rather than to walk in faith.
What I do know, what I have learned of the sweet, sweet Gospel, is that when our triune God tells us to be not afraid, when He speaks, "Do not be afraid!" God is not speaking in command or condemnation. He is, after a fashion, reminding who He is, what He has done for us, so that we will take comfort, we will find refuge in that truth to help dispel our fear.
All throughout the Psalter this is woven: the truth of God is our comfort, is larger, greater, more powerful than what is in our hearts and minds and bodies and lives. Sometimes it is shown is grand language, such as with Psalm 91. Sometimes it comes via internal dialogue, such as with Psalms 42 and 77. The latter is one of my most favorite of all my 150 favorite psalms. Though, the verse that is the crux of that comfort is not translated the same in other versions as it is in the NASB 1977. So, most do not read what I do.
I love 77 because the psalmist is in utter despair, flinging his doubts and feelings of abandonment out to God. Then, in verse 10, it is as if he smacks himself in the forehead as he realizes: Ooohhhhhhh! "It is my grief, that the right hand of the Most High has changed." [emphasis mine]
I can just hear him say to himself: Dimwit! Dolt! Oh, man, have I been blinded by my own thoughts and fears!
So, what does the psalmist do? In verses 11-12, he declares: "I shall remember the deeds of the Lord; surely I will remember Thy wonders of old, I will mediate on all Thy work, and muse on Thy deeds."
In a way, this is what happens in Psalm 13, in a much shorter fashion:
How long, O Lord? Will Though forget me forever?
How long wilt Though hide Thy face from me?
How long shall I take counsel in my soul,
Having sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long will my enemy be exalted over me?
Consider and answer me, O Lord, my God;
Enlighten my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
Lest my enemy say, "I have overcome him,"
Lest my adversaries rejoice when I am shaken.
But I have trusted in Thy lovingkindess;
My heart shall rejoice in Thy salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
Because He has death bountifully with me.
Perspective. We look inward and we find ourselves felled. We look to Him and we are reminded that ultimately, eventually, victory is ours. Victory is given to us.
Victory as large as boldy declared in Psalm 91:
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the LORD, "My refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust!"
For it is He who delivers you from the snare of the trapper
And from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with His pinions,
And under His wings you may seek refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
You will not be afraid of the terror by night,
Or of the arrow that flies by day;
Of the pestilence that stalks in darkness,
Or of the destruction that lays waste at noon.
A thousand may fall at your side
And ten thousand at your right hand,
But it shall not approach you.
You will only look on with your eyes
And see the recompense of the wicked.
For you have made the LORD, my refuge,
Even the Most High, your dwelling place.
No evil will befall you,
Nor will any plague come near your tent.
For He will give His angels charge concerning you,
To guard you in all your ways.
They will bear you up in their hands,
That you do not strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread upon the lion and cobra,
The young lion and the serpent you will trample down.
"Because he has loved Me, therefore I will deliver him;
I will set him securely on high, because he has known My name.
"He will call upon Me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble;
I will rescue him and honor him.
"With a long life I will satisfy him
And let him see My salvation."
Can you hear the horns shouting triumphantly in the background as you read that? Can you hear the angels rejoicing? If ever there was a "Take that, satan, you feral beast!" Psalm 91 is. And it is ours to pray ... in our fear.
To me, one of the greatest comforts of the Psalter is that it is filled with all the emotions that fell us, including fear. For our God, steadfast in His Love, knows His creation and understand the words of our hearts. He gives them to us to pray ... to pray boldly and without shame.
I wonder why it is that the grass fells Amos so. He is a dog. He should not be so bound. What I think about though, since every fear in him was born on July 12, 2011. When the pit bull attack ceased, Amos and I were lying on the grass, bleeding. Amos dragged himself, howling in pain, until he had draped himself over my lap. Then he growled and snarled and snapped at anyone who approached us. I still do not remember the moment from the time I stood for the last time and knew the next time the pit bull pulled us down I would not be able to get up--that the end had come for us both--to the moment when I realized the pit bull was being held back by a woman and Amos and I were in the grass.
Could, somehow, Amos associate grass with that violent, brutal experience? The vet has examined his paws. There is nothing wrong with them. Grass causes no reaction to his skin, no swelling or hives. Yet, even when he conquers his fear enough to tend to his needs, after always a very long warm up to actually stepping upon the grass, Amos works hard to have at most three paws touching it and oft tries to tend to his business precariously perched on just two paws.
Amos' fear of grass oft fells him.
Fear oft fells me.
We are each creatures of a God who knows us, loves us, and strengthens and sustains us in our fear. I, through the Living Word. Amos, through a puppy momma who will allow herself to be slightly smothered as long as needful.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
No comments:
Post a Comment