I used to jog, back when I needed it less. My dog, Spot, would run with me. I ran two miles, Spot ran one. She would go 1/2 mile, lay down, and wait for me to come back. Then she’d run the last 1/2 mile with me. The road we traveled had many other dogs, all of which were less than pleased to see us. They would all rush out to see us, say their ugly dog words, and snap at our heels. At least they would try to. Spot wasn’t a big dog, but she didn’t take any stuff from other dogs. She especially didn’t let them mess with me. Spot loved me.
There was one house with two boxers. Boxers are territorial anyway, but two of them were even more formidable. These two would wait for me on the return trip and then rush out to growl and snap. Spot and I had already had some experience with those two. One day, Spot was lagging far behind and I found myself in a “Boxer Rebellion” on my own. They rushed out like clockwork. It didn’t take long for them to catch up with me.
I had learned a long time ago than dogs don’t expect their prey to turn on them. The element of surprise that can give you an edge. Its not enough to just stand there and flail at them. You’ve got to make the dog believe that he has made a terrible mistake; as if your jogging was merely a lure to draw him out for destruction. Just as the two boxers were about to grab my feet, I turned and roared at them. Then I ran at them as hard as I could, waiving my arms in the air.
The boxers stopped dead in their tracks. At first, they looked confused. Then they whirled around and headed for home. Spot wasn’t a big dog, but she had momentum and a great sense of timing. They never saw her coming. She rolled both of them before they knew what hit them. By the time they recovered, they were headed for home, yelping in fear. I felt like writing a Psalm:
“Yea though I run through the Valley of Dogs,
I will fear no evil,
‘Cause Spot and I are the “baddest” dogs
In the valley!”
Sometimes it seems like God ran one mile when you ran two. You find yourself in trouble and wonder where he went. Things get so tight that you can’t go off to a quiet place to pray. Any praying is done with eyes wide open, hands to the task and with sounds that don’t come out in reverent tones. Its a Lament: “Where are you, God? I need you now!” You turn to look behind you and no one is there. That’s because God is ahead of you. You look for answers, but God doesn’t send answers. He sends himself. You think you lack faith, but what you lack is experience. You have to learn the dogs that chase you and the ones that protect you. Faith comes from trust, and trust doesn’t develop on the first run.
So if the valley ahead is foreboding, don’t despair. Valleys are for learning and for faith. As I learned long ago, being on a “Spot” is not always a bad thing.
Rev. Dennis P. Levin
