Stay. Stay. Stay.

I'm not a big fan of dogs, as my family can attest.
My brother has a dog, a Ridgeback, I believe. A good dog, as far as dogs go.
I used to like dogs, begged my parents for a puppy, the whole nine yards.
But something happened along the way of growing up and now I find myself on the other side of the fence, shifting my weight to stay out of range of roaming tongues and dirty paws.

So it is with great resignation that I recognize my utter likeness to the creatures.
Unfortunately it isn't their undying devotion or zest for life with which I identify, but their eagerness to bolt.

Running in my sister's neighborhood today I passed an owner, with dog in training.
He held the dog close and repeated, "Stay. Stay. Stay."
I smiled as I ran by, but didn't speak a word, determined not to disturb the process.
It's hard to stay; this I know.
I found myself wanting to help the poor dog obey, since I too felt his readiness to take off.

I suppose it's just where I am these days- with the Master close at side, methodically repeating, "Stay. Stay. Stay."
And it's hard to stay, it's a discipline to do so.
But I vaguely remember something about God disciplining those he loves. So I'll do my best to stay, to watch the world running by and sit, obediently, at the Master's feet.