While praying I could hear my dog outside my door. He was sniffing and scratching to get in, but because the door was firmly shut he wasn't able to bulldoze his way in, as is his habit. A few moments later my sister opened the door and he came flying into the bedroom. I could hear the clinks of tags and the huffing of his breathing as he searched for me. He darted into the bathroom, then onto the bed and finally he found me moments later on the floor (not my usual place, so it took him a minute). He all too eagerly jumped into my lap, tail wagging a mile a minute, and eyes searching my face with concern as I was crying. Listening to the way he earnestly searched for and found me, was humbling. He loves me dearly and rests well knowing that I'm within site or touch.
I desire to liken this scenario to my relationship with God, but sadly that's not the case. Why am I not so often eager to find him, even knowing that He's always available to me? Typically, I surrender and crawl into His presence when I'm hurting or scared, but not so much so when I'm elated or angry.
Shortly after my moment with Roddey (my dog). I read this blog post by Paul Tripp, it was perfectly timed. Read it here.