Drawing Near

I turn the key and unlock my parents’ front door.  I have a three-day weekend, and I’m spending it with family.  They’re busy this evening, so I won’t see them until later. But when I open the door, someone is waiting for me.

Rugby the Labrador lifts his nose in greeting. He wags his tail with an excitement that makes his whole body sway back and forth.

“Hello, old friend,” I say. I ruffle the fur on his forehead, then I take off my boots. 

I walk to the kitchen, and Rugby follows me. While I make a cup of coffee, he presses the bridge of his nose against my leg, as if he can’t get close enough to me. 

When my coffee is ready, Rugby follows me to the living room. I open a novel and begin to read. Rugby settles next to my feet.

I wonder what’s running through his mind. Does he think it’s odd that I come and go from my parents’ home? Is he confused when I’m here for a few days, then gone for a month? Does he ever feel like I’ve abandoned him?

If he does, he doesn’t let that affect his relationship with me. He never acts distant or leery. He always greets me with love. He always draws near me.

I wish I were as faithful as Rugby.

Sometimes, I feel as if God has abandoned me.

“Where were You when I needed You?” I ask.

“Why did You allow me to hurt like that?” I question.

Then, in frustration, I pull away. I stop trusting God. I figure that a good God would have delivered me. A loving God would have spared me pain. Instead of drawing near to God, I build walls to keep Him out. Instead of acknowledging my incomplete understanding of God’s providence, I claim to know better than Him.

I’m embarrassed by my own fair-weather faith.

I want to change. I want to be like Rugby. Faithful. Loyal. Unwavering. I want to draw as close to God as I possibly can.

“You’re a good guy, you know that Rugby?” I say. Rugby raises his head and tips it to one side. Then he inches closer to me.