A Lion and Lamb Moment

Something rather astonishing occurred this week and it did so in my very own backyard while I was watching. As I accompanied our dog out onto our deck so that she could do her “business” in the yard, another little and unexpected creature caught my eye on the ground below us; and this little creature caught our dog’s eye too, so much so that she bounded down the deck steps and fiercely ran toward it. “It” was the most precious brown bunny I’d ever seen and I became horrified at the thought of its life ending right before my eyes.

Since there was no way I could catch our dog at that point, I yelled “NO!” at her as forcefully as I could, not thinking for one second that my “no” would be enough to compel her to stop. But stop she did. She stopped herself so close to that rabbit she almost knocked it over; and then she stepped away from it, did her thing in the yard, walked past the rabbit on her way back to me, bounded back up the deck steps and sat at my feet intently looking up. “What a good girl!” I exclaimed. She was, of course, rewarded with many more treats than usual and lots of strokes. I was so proud of her for doing something I know full well goes against everything in her nature as a dog, most especially as the lab/retriever/beagle mixed breed that she is.

As I thought about what had transpired, it occurred to me that what I had asked our dog to do for my sake (and that rabbit’s) was rather similar to what God asks us to do for him and for others and for ourselves too. We are explicitly told to deny ourselves, to fight against the very flesh we are born into, to dare to become something other than what we are—to allow ourselves to be turned into a creature that looks less and less like it’s from this world (as this world is now) and more and more “other-worldly” instead. Our dog was other-worldly yesterday; she was the ferocious lion who chose not to pounce on the vulnerable lamb—and all because she heard a strong voice, a voice that meant something to her, steering her in another direction. I could tell she wasn’t happy to step away from what she deemed to be her prize, but she did it anyway.

And we can too—we can choose to step away from what might seem very good to us in order to embrace what just might be so very much better. And we can choose to cherish each of those moments that goes against the “natural” order, that give us glimpses into how things used to be “once upon a time” and how they will be again in due time. And we can choose to listen to a different and unwavering voice—one that bears with us even when we can’t seem to find a way to stop ourselves from bounding toward whatever supposed treasure we find in our paths. No, our real Prize will never give up on any one of us. Though we often give up on him, he never reciprocates, not in that sense. And I’m so grateful for being reminded of this via a little ball of brown fluff that graced my backyard this week.

 

 

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them (Isaiah 11, verse 6).