His name, my dear friends, is Pedro. His wisdom, as I am sure you can see, is quickly evident in his regal features. Kindness and joy emanate from his dark eyes, and you would greatly cherish his quick kisses and almost endlessly wagging tail if you were to meet him in person. In addition to the brilliance in perspective which you will soon witness, his other skills include running, climbing mountains, serving as the house Sergeant, catching spiders, and even, it has been reported by his owners, engaging in intercessory prayer. Maybe not. But his paws have been said to smell like potato chips, so that's pretty cool.
Anyways. You will find below five basic principles of our esteemed friend's philosophy. These are, of course, summaries of his thought, gathered from my own observations of his daily habits. This, I am sure, you will appreciate, as the grammar of his actual speeches and writings is quite—er—complex...Yeah... So, as you relish the warm feelings surely ignited by this elaborate introduction (or, more likely, roll your eyes at my wordiness and relish the warm feelings actually brought about by Pedro's picture), join with me in a refreshing dive into his beautiful wisdom.
1. Food is always exciting. Also, walks are always exciting. And so is being pet. And riding in the car. And food. Did I mention food? Food is always exciting.
This was the first thing I noticed about Pedro. Every dog seems to have about the same perspective, but it was Pedro whose undying excitement made me think I had something to learn. You see, it doesn't matter how many times you ask him; he's always excited to do his favorite things. And his favorite things don't seem to be the things he gets to do on occasion. They're the simple things he just relentlessly enjoys every day. He loves breakfast and dinner and his daily walk—and he'll love them just as much tomorrow as he did today and has done every day before that. He finds unending pleasure in what we might call the monotony of daily life.
Two questions from here. The first: What if we did this? What if we chose to take joy in the humdrum of the hoedown—the little, professedly boring parts of the dance of life? What if we decided to really enjoy our oatmeal in the morning and our meanderings through the grocery store and our coffee and that day-end satisfaction of finishing our work? Can we slow down enough to delight in the everyday, monotonous habits of life? Part of me thinks that that's where much of life is found. Jesus seemed to find it there, anyway. He enjoyed the Transfiguration, I'm sure, but He also found apparently relentless satisfaction in another meal, another healing, another conversation, another day.
And that leads me to my second question: Do we realize that God does this? I'm serious. He still paints a sunrise every morning even if none of us happens to be awake to see it. He put tiny spots on ladybugs and wove together all sorts of cells to make us—intricate details that seem to delight Him over and over again. He never tires of creating day after day, of taking care of one more sparrow, or of picking us up after another fall. He delights in the monotony of life. He delights in life. We get so bogged down in worry and fear and all sorts of other things that we miss what I think seems to be the rhythm of all the rest of His creation and of His own heart: joy. Maybe Pedro—or that bird chirping outside your window—can encourage you to discover the beauty in the monotony, the humor in the habits, the joy in daily life.2. I can pee on that bush. And that other bush. And that pole. And the fire hydrant. And, just for the heck of it, on that grass too. And, don't worry, I still have more for that other bush.
Honestly, I think there is a lot we can learn from this one. But here's what I'd like to pull from it, mostly because it's something I wrestle with often. It comes in another question (okay, a series of questions): How confident are we about leaving our "scent" on other people? How "okay" are we with letting people taste the real "us" and be impacted by that? How ready are we to purposefully leave a lasting touch on those with whom we come in contact—or even to admit that our presence will probably do that whether we realize it or not?
Sometimes, I struggle with the idea that my presence has an impact. I'll wish that I could walk about without being heard, watch and learn without being seen, or exist without touching anyone. I used to wish I didn't exist at all. The idea that my presence affects those around me has been known to irritate me immensely.
But I'm learning something—not just from Pedro but from the truly freeing love of my church community and of Christ. Yes, our presence always has an effect. That's inevitable. And, beautifully, it is in this leaving of a "scent" that some of the most surprising glimpses of true humanity and also sublime connections between humanity and divinity happen. You see, when our presence touches others, they see our humanity. When we are touched by others, we see theirs. And when this happens among Christians, we see Jesus.
Paul puts it this way: "But thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession, and through us spreads the fragrance of the knowledge of him everywhere. For we are the aroma of Christ to God among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing, to one a fragrance from death to death, to the other a fragrance from life to life" (II Corinthians 2:14-16a, ESV).
Maybe we should be a bit more bold about spreading this fragrance, passing on this aroma everywhere we go, regardless of how it's received. Pedro has no fear of peeing on every bush. He makes every place his territory. And he makes a special point to leave his scent in places where other dogs had done the same; he covers over their mark with his own and repeatedly claims the spot as his.
Perhaps, like Pedro, we should be in the business of fearlessly letting our presence have an impact. We should be ready to be used by Christ to touch His people, excited to share with our very selves His fragrance over and over again—especially to those who are burdened by the lies of so many other scents from false authorities. We can remind by our scent who really owns the block. Let's not fear to let our lights shine before men.3. Walks are, of course, never about the destination. Every bush is important.
That's life, friends. With Christ, our destination is sure. So let's not worry about it. Let's be more concerned with the journey, more intent on valuing each person we meet. We'll get home when it's time.4. 'Tis important to always watch the house. You never know what the mailman—or those mischievous doves—might be up to.
Paul has told us to be alert and to put on the armor of God in its entirety. John told us to test the spirits. Jesus told us to keep watch. The Christian life is a battle; we've got to pay attention. We must be careful about what we let into our house (our mind, our heart, our body). And just as Pedro must listen to his owners when they tell him the "intruder" is actually a friend or that the doves are perfectly allowed to peruse the yard, we must be attentive and obedient to the leading of the Holy Spirit. He knows what's what. Let's stop our barking if He's trying to let in a friend.5. Daddy is my favorite.
Pedro seems to love pretty much everyone (save that poor mailman), but there's something pretty special about his reaction to his daddy. He just gets so excited to be with his master. He'll go with him anywhere, and he'll only let his eyes close if his daddy's the one saying, "Nighty night."
I think the connection here is pretty obvious. We should love everyone—but our Abba should be our favorite. Our Heavenly Father should be our first love. He, after all, is the One who'll lead us to green pastures and quiet waters, and it is His gentle voice that allows us to rest.In summary? Pedro's advice is this: Lighten up a bit. Enjoy the breakfasts and dinners and walks. Don't be afraid to leave your scent on the bushes. Watch your house. And, most of all, make Abba your favorite.
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