Our sweet dog, Samantha, is fifteen years old. A Miniature Schnauzer with personality galore, she has watched for our safety and stolen our hearts in ways that are hard to imagine. Funny, cute, and incredibly smart, she has tried in her own Napoleonic way to rule our roost.
Sometimes Sammie’s shenanigans get to us, but when she stands staring at the front door as if that will make it open, or puts her paw pleadingly on our leg trying to convey what she wants, well, we just melt. But time—as it does to all of us—has caused age to creep up on her.
Hardly able to see or hear anymore, she relies on the movement of our feet beside her and the almost inaudible snap of our fingers just in front of her nose to lead her. Walking with her the other night it hit me that this was a picture of what my journey with the Lord should look like. Close beside Him and like the prophet Elijah, hearing His still small whisper above the clamor of what is swirling around me (1 Kings 19:12).