Seven months ago I had to euthanize my faithful companion, Sport. Sport was my farm dog. He ate afterbirth and cow manure, licked my face if I wasn’t careful to keep him back, and rode everywhere on the gator with me. He’d hop into the passenger seat of the gator as I was starting the engine, and before I could get my hand off the key he would claw at my arm because he wanted my arm resting on him as we drove along.  I learned to start and shift gears fast because you couldn’t remove your hand from Sporty for more than a second.

Sport’s final gator ride. You can see in his eyes he was hurting.

About three months ago a new pup came to live at our house. His name is Brewster, but I named him incorrectly. I probably should have called him “Squirt” for reasons you can likely imagine.

This morning dawned crisp and fall-like. I took my normal seat on the porch where I meet with God most mornings. After I’d read my daily chapter of Proverbs and several Psalms (aloud) I sat my Bible on the table beside my chair, let my hands fall into my lap, closed my eyes and began to pray. In just a few seconds I felt a wet, cold muzzle on my hand. Brewster was needing love.

I normally shoo him away at times like this, but today I just reached out and petted him as I continued to pray. I held his head in my hands while he sat there in front of me, and it occurred to me that Brewster was praying, too. As I observed him praying to his God (that’d be me), he actually taught me something about how to pray. Brewster and I have somethings in common when we pray.

#1. We want to know that God loves us. The presence of my hand on Brewster’s head is a sign to him that I know he’s there, and that I love him. That’s what I want when I pray. I want to sense that God hasn’t forgotten me and knows that I am there.

After a few minutes with my hand on his head I withdrew it, and Brewster immediately reached his nose back into my lap so I’d restore my hand to his head. He and I both crave a constant sense of God’s presence. When I’m praying I’m asking God to take me into his lap, or to at least place his hand on my head so I’ll know He’s there, and that I can feel the love of His touch.

Brewster. I should’a named him “Squirt”

#2. We want to know that God will protect us. Brewster’s (and Sport’s) insistence that my hand stay in contact is protection for them. Its reassurance that when the big, bad, monster of life comes, Daddy will make it OK.

A few morning’s ago as I sat on the porch I heard Brewster scream from the far side of the yard. He’d just met the electric fence for the first time and he hightailed it back to my side yelping and screaming. He needed comfort; someone to quiet him and tell him it was OK. That’s what I want from God when I pray.

#3. We want assurance God will provide for us. At the end of the day, Brewster’s only hope is that I’ll provide for him. His comfort, his provision, his food, his safety, and his very life are in my hands. (In fact, that’s why he lost his testicles a few days ago. But that’s another story. I don’t think we have to fear God will neuter us.)

Brewster instinctively knows that if I don’t provide for him, he’s DOL—-Dog Outta Luck!

Brewster’s discomfort when my hand leaves his head is because he wants assurance. I want that, too. When I read the Psalms I get the sense that the psalmist wanted that same assurance. Over and over he asks for God’s hand to move on his behalf.

The older I get the less certain I am, or perhaps the more fragile life seems. You can go from the top of the world to the bottom of the pit in a nanosecond. We see it happen everyday to people all around us. When my foot slips a bit my mind races to the possibility that I could be crashing. That’s when I need  re-assurance that God is there, that He knows I am here, and that He will take the responsibility of providing for me. I just need to stay close at his feet and keep my head under his hand.

I’ve heard of “working like a dog.” I’m basically against that. But I aspire to “pray like a dog.”

Thanks, Brewster for the lessons.

There’s only one thing Brewster does that I think might not be appropriate when I am seeking God’s face. Let’s just say that I hope God doesn’t put his hand on my head and say “Bless you, Squirt.”