As an adult, my experience with dogs has been anything but pleasant. The only dog I like today is one named Oscar Mayer, found resting quietly on a soft bun and smothered with chopped onions, ketchup, and sweet relish. But it wasn’t always so.
During my childhood, I wanted all the usual pets American children dream of having: a horse, a pig, a hamster, and a dog. I spent many a day at my grandparent’s home as I was growing up, and one particular time a big German Shepherd made it’s way into the yard. My uncle, who is 4 years my junior, and I immediately took possession of the animal, named him “Prince”, and set about training him to be our faithful forever pet.
I don’t know about Andrew, but I was nervous about having to go inside and eat. What if Prince ran away in the 10 minutes we were inside? But Prince remained loyal to his new masters. We played with Prince all afternoon until again, we had to go in to eat. This time, when we got back outside, Prince was gone. We never saw him again.
Prince came to mind the other day. I went into the bathroom to pray and take my shower. Lo and behold, I discovered that someone had bathed and wadded the towel up on the towel bar so it didn’t dry overnight. I interrupted my prayer with an important request: “Lord, please dry this towel for me and stop so-and-so from doing this again.”
No sooner had the words spilled past my lips and I realized I was treating the Sovereign God of the universe like a dog. “Sit.” “Stay.” “Dry my towel.”
Prayer, rather than a command to the Commander, must be a humble conversation of devotion and love.
To me, who am less than the least of all the saints, this grace was given … For this reason I bow my knees to the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 3:8, 14).