You will keep the mind that is dependent on you in perfect peace, for it is trusting in you. Isaiah 26:3
Have I told you about my little dog? I haven’t? Well, it’s about time I bring you up to speed on some inside family stuff. A few years ago we had a six-pound silver Yorkshire terrier. In order for her to have a chance with the Jamisons’ gigantic black lab across the street, we named her Bear.
In 1993, when1 our nest was about to empty out for good, my late wife, Bobbie, announced that she wanted a lapdog. We already had a midsized sheltie named Abbey, but she was way too big to hold. Another dog—not to mention a little dog— was not something I thought we needed. Bobbie had that look in her eye. I smiled and acquiesced.
When Bear was ten weeks old, Bobbie flew to Pennsylvania to spend a few days with her parents. Left alone with our puppy, I was forced to take singular care of her. By week’s end we were inseparable friends. She was curling up on my neck when I watched television. She was sitting on my lap when I read the newspaper. She was cuddling behind my knees when I slept. By the time Bobbie returned from her trip, she had completely lost her little dog. Bear was all mine.
Over the years, I watched this amazing dog—amazing because of the way she treated me. (I know that this may be creating a gag reflex for you, but please stay with me for a few more minutes. Thank you.) Bear’s favorite place in the house was wherever I was. When I was sitting at my computer, she wanted to be on my lap. When I was in a meeting at home, she’d be curled up on the floor next to me, often resting her head on top of my shoe. When I came home from a business trip, she was completely crazed with joy. She’d roll over on the floor and then stand up on her hind legs again, showing me her teeth (I thought of this as a smile), dancing my welcome home. My joy was to return this affection to our little fuzzy critter.
Now, imagine a conversation between the omnipotent God of the galaxies and His angels. Our heavenly Father has just told His associates about me. His fondness has clearly come through in His description. His affection for me is undeniable. His emissaries look at Him, just like you’re looking at me right now, and they say, “Your Majesty, do you know whom you’re talking about? You’re talking about a mortal here. Wolgemuth is only a man—a human filled with sinfulness and pride and brokenness. Aren’t you going a little overboard?”
My heavenly Father is almost humored at their lack of understanding. “You should see,” He finally says, “how much he wants to please Me.”
“God will keep Robert’s mind that is dependent on God in perfect peace, for Robert trusts in God.” Does the Creator of the universe have more important things to do than to be concerned about my peace? Bigger assignments than loving me? Could He do better? Yes, absolutely. However, despite this fact, He’s not distracted at all.
I want to be steadfast—loyal, unwavering, dependable, resolute—in my love for God. I want to know His presence, to experience the luxury of never leaving His sight. In my innermost soul, I want to feel safe. Secure. At home in His arms. Don’t you?
By the way, I haven’t told many people about the special relationship I enjoyed back then with Bear. It’s a little embarrassing. Thank you for keeping this one a secret.
1 In the years since 1993, because of the circle of life, Bear has been replaced by Cubbie and then Wrigley. Yes, I’m a Chicago native, and, yes, they are all small dogs.