The God We Make
We have suddenly been given temporary custody of a large and powerful Doberman Pinscher. He is tall enough to give me a nose poke in the arm over the top of the arm of my armchair. He does this poking when he needs to go out. Or when he wants me to think he needs to go out, even if he doesn’t need to, but wants to. This would be the male dog manipulating the alpha male. Being king around here is an illusion.
I’m out on our residential street with this giant animal several times each day. I’ve discovered that walking with a Doberman makes you a ready target for the neighbors' interest. They get up off their porch. They get up from tending the flowers. They stop to talk. They keep their social distance as if I were wearing a mask. I command my four-legged security guard to sit. My finger is on the button in my hand, which is capable of reminding Gunner (dog’s name) that I am the alpha. This, via an electric shock that is rarely necessary.
“What’s his name?” they say, “Did you get a new dog?”
I stand a little taller now that I’m walking the biggest, strongest, and potentially the most vicious dog in the neighborhood. There is no need for a concealed carry permit when you have a Doberman. I cancelled my Amazon order for the Ring security camera/doorbell, I don’t need that either.
“We have temporary custody of our son’s pet monster,” I explain, “He has been deployed to Hawaii. No dogs of this ferocious breed are permitted on the Air Force Base. His name is Gunner.” I’m thinking maybe some government requirement for some training and a permit should be required to have such a weapon on the end the leash in my gloved hand. Gloves help reduce the rope burn from the leash.
A conversation ensues. From experience, I know it will be one of several today. The Holy Spirit reminds me that I’m supposed to use these opportunities to partner with God in saving the lost. Most of my neighbors are lost. They all believe in a god, but not the God that I know.
I quickly work the conversation around to how blessed I am to be alive, executing God’s assignments for me during my bonus years following a miraculous medical procedure that saved my life. I mention how my sons and granddaughters are such a blessing. I watch their eyes and wait for their reaction. I work the word “Jesus” into a sentence. In the background, I listen for what the Holy Spirit would have me think and say. I assume a non-threatening stance and transmit the signals of an unhurried man willing to talk as long as they want to. Gunner sits rock still and looks them in the eye with his pointy ears straight up.
They mostly all believe in a god they have invented in their mind. One who is tolerant of their own thoughts, convictions, and actions in life. It’s a god that feels more reasonable to them than the one described in the Bible. It is a god who is not involved in everyday life because if he were, life would not include all the unexplainable suffering that is reality.
I put on my most joyful self and share that God is working right now in the details of my life. I try to give the implication that this is foundational for me. I finger the little card in my back pocket that I picked off the rack in the lobby of the church. So much life changing information there that is only a QR code away. “How bold do I want to be with this person?” I ponder.
Usually, it's no card in their face but a prayer in my mind.
I look for where the Holy Spirit has already begun a work in them and try to build on that.
I try to actively listen. I try to wait and let them send the signal that the conversation is coming to a close. I remind myself that God loves everybody. I try to show this with my expression and posture. Sometimes I’m even successful.
“Have a blessed day,” I say, “Gunner, release.”
As we walk away, I admit to Gunner that I should have been a little bolder. He agrees.
