Chihuahua-Hearted Living

Description

How can the craziness of a tiny dog reflect the condition of our hearts?

The little yapper doesn’t even know how to take a walk. She leaps and strains on her collar, wheezing for lack of breath, choking and barking and choking, scrabbling pavement madly, sniffing as if life depends on catching every scent, marking her trail without pausing to squat, eyes bulging with insanity.

Sometimes I think I understand my Chihuahua.

This is my heart: restless, wild, hunting whiffs of joy as if my life depended on it, scrabbling for more…always more.

And I wonder, when I take Daisy for a “walk”— how is this enjoyable for her? How can she appreciate any of it by whizzing past every bush without even glancing? Perhaps she will slow with age. But for me, time is too dear to wait for it to teach me.

It's funny/sad—the fact that life is short is why we hurry, of course. I feel unsettled if I don't have a plane ticket in my hand every year. Must see, must do, must go, must serve, must live, must...

True, there is a holy discontent in Christianity that must be awakened in many hearts; those whose bellies are full with the pleasures of earth-dwelling have no want for the greater pleasures of Jesus. We are sojourners—exiles who never belong because heaven is our home (Heb. 11:16). No earthly place can, or should, wholly satisfy those designed to thrive in another world. And yes, there is an urgency we must live with if we are to live for Jesus at all—there is a reason Scripture says "run" to describe the "race" set before us (Heb. 12:1). This is wartime, and we who are enlisted cannot please our commanding officer by dawdling, collecting things and loafing in front of digital screens (2 Tim. 2:3–5).

But I am learning something too, and it is changing this Chihuahua heart—sitting at Jesus' feet like Mary, choosing the one necessity, is not meant to end with morning devotions. We can "sit" at His feet all day, even while we "run"—and the latter is impossible without the former. In some strange twist, it is only when our souls are quietly alert to receive from Jesus that we can run at all. 

The pace is not a choking one. How have you seen the love of God today? He’s been showing it to me twenty years, whether I see or not. He shows it with the dawn. Purple hues decorate clouds, mercy’s newness is fresh on the grass. He is faithful. All this unruly, excessive beauty is a gift. At breakfast—- unnecessary aromas and tastes mingle to remind. He’s a lavish giver, immoderately kind. What kind of God thinks up noses, and adds the additional pleasure of smell to flavor? And the satisfaction of my stomach is a quiet reverberation of this shout: He is the bread of Life. Whoever comes to Him will never go hungry, and whoever believes in Him will never be thirsty.

I want to believe those words. Never hungry... What if this never-hungry, profound contentment is the gift to those willing to take it and take it slowly—to see God in the everyday, not the momentous only?

He gives bread to satiate the gnawing; He offers fullness of joy, welling up to eternal life, for every wild and longing heart. Not tomorrow, but today—in the sanctified now.

Come, He says. Come, taste and see My goodness. Come to Me, and I will give rest for your soul (Ps. 34:8; Matt. 11:28). I'm coming...I can't keep running at breakneck speed past joy any longer.

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