I’ve been pondering what to get my dog, Winston, for Christmas this year. He’d love to have a squirrel, since he can’t seem to catch any on his own, but that would be … well … unseemly, to say the least. He already has more than enough doggy toys and a plush bed to sleep on. And while he could certainly use some doggy cologne, I think that might fall into the category of those presents we buy for others that are really for our own benefit (like the time several years ago when my husband bought me a DVD player … but we’ll save that story for another day).
I think maybe the best present I could give Winston would be a gift certificate for three rounds of “fetch” in the backyard. All you noble dog-lovers out there might be indignantly thinking, “Well, that woman should be playing fetch with her dog anyway! What kind of dog-owner is she?”
My answer: The kind who likes to play games by the rules. And Winston never plays fetch by the rules.
In fact, I don’t think you could call what Winston plays “fetch” at all. It’s more like “clutch and taunt.” Here’s how it goes: I bring out a tennis ball and throw it. Winston takes off after it, finds it and then stuffs it in his flopping, slobbery jowls. Now, according to the International Rules of Fetch, Winston is supposed to drop the ball at my feet so I can throw it again. And on and on we are hypothetically supposed to frolic as I play fetch in a perfect world with a sane dog.
But that’s not how it happens at our house. Instead, Winston trots up to me and acts like he’s going to give me the ball – or at least let me stick my hand in the damp abyss of his muzzle and retrieve it. But when my hand starts moving in his direction, he assumes his hindquarters–in-the-air/front-end-low romping position and darts from side to side, taunting me to come after him.
Being not quite as frisky as a three-year-old psychotic dog, the game is pointless. I can pretend to try to catch him, but we both know in short order that it’s a big waste of time. And Winston never does give up the stupid ball, so the whole fetch thing becomes frustrating, not fun.
“If you’d give me the ball, we could really have some fun here,” I tell my dog. He tilts his head and looks classically clueless, his walrus-like jowls protruding from the tennis ball stuffed within. If he could talk, he’d be saying, “Huh?” He just doesn’t get it.
Sometimes I don’t get it, either, when I’ve got something gripped in my jowls and God is asking me to let go of it. A material possession someone else needs much more than I; energy I don’t want to expend on something God wants me to do; time I feel I can’t spare, but God is asking me to sacrifice for Him; my plan, when He is calling me to yield to His plan — it’s so easy to take hold of what belongs to God and claim it as my own, refusing to give it back to Him.
And I’m sure it breaks God’s heart, because He knows the fun can’t really begin until I learn to let go and have an open hand with the stuff of this life. When I truly trust and rest in the loving care of God, who promises to supply all my needs (Philippians 4:19) and to be with me always (Matthew 28:20), I begin to unlock the secrets of the “peace that passes understanding” (Philippians 4:7) and “joy inexpressible and full of glory” (1 Peter 1:8).
I give God all I am and have, and He gives me all He is and has. It’s the best deal ever.
It’s crazy and self-defeating to stand there looking clueless when God is asking us to give him the “tennis balls” in our lives. Fetch isn’t fun without relinquishment; life isn’t either.
And don’t think God doesn’t understand how hard it is to give away something you love. God gave His very heart to us. His name was Jesus.
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son … (John 3:16).
Have a blessed Christmas.