Kill the Vacuum

The older I've grown, the more I've come to realize that I'm kind of a chicken about certain things. I'm afraid to fly. I'm frightened by stormy  weather. I'm terrified of snakes. OK ... I'm more than kind of a chicken on those three items ... I'm a full-blown shaking, whining, crying mess when it comes to flying, storms and snakes. And ... I sleep with a light on. I drive really slow in the snow. You couldn't pay me enough money to ride a roller coaster. Yep, I'm definitely a chicken about certain things. The funny part of my chicken-itis admission, however, is that I try really hard to act brave when I'm around another person in each of the situations I just described, especially when the other person has no fear at all of the things that frighten me.

My big dog Julie has always been afraid of the vacuum, and I do mean afraid ... she runs to my room and hides her head under the covers when I pull the big bad sweeper out of the closet. She shakes and whimpers and cowers ... she is completely terrified by the green roaring machine. Or at least she used to be. Enter Oliver, the completely fearless wiener dog. He attacks the vacuum with all the gusto his little long body can muster, and I'm certain that in his mind, he thinks it is entirely possible that he can kill the evil vacuum beast if he barks loudly enough or nips hard enough at it while it moves across the floor.

Now here's the interesting thing ... after watching Ollie go after the vacuum for a couple of weeks, Julie became really brave. She ventured out of my room and barked along with Ollie as I vacuumed. It was almost as if she couldn't allow a much smaller dog to demonstrate more courage than she ever has possessed. Last Saturday, though, I decided to see if Julie's bravery was real or if she was simply following Oliver's lead. As she and Oliver stood at the opposite end of the living room and barked, I quickly turned the vacuum and headed toward the two of them. While Ollie charged the vacuum with all his might, Julie tucked her tail and bolted into my room.

As I finished vacuuming and put the machine back in the closet, Julie ventured out of my room with her tail wagging ... the object of her terror safely contained behind the closet door. I couldn't help but think of how much I am like Julie. I try so hard to act brave and show no fear in front of others. I try so hard not to let them see the real me ... the shaking, frightened, cowering me. And here's the thing ... the lesson ... I love Julie even when she's afraid of the vacuum. I always have, and I always will. She doesn't have to pretend with me; she doesn't have to act brave. In fact, I love it when my big old dog needs me to protect her, to comfort her, to show her how strong I am when she is at her weakest.

Just like God and me ... He loves me even when I'm afraid. He always has, and He always will. I don't have to pretend with Him; I don't have to act brave. In fact, He loves it when I need Him to protect me, to comfort me, to show me how strong He is when I am at my weakest.

So, kill the vacuum, little Ollie ... Julie and I will be in my room.