Normally, Scout is a pretty saucy little dog — tough and fearless and funny — but storms seem to unnerve her, so when thunderclouds moved through our area late one night last week, Scout’s first order of business was to jump up on the bed, burrow under the covers, and snuggle up next to me until she felt safe.
I didn’t think about it at the time, but it occurred to me this evening that I could learn a lot from Scout.
When a storm is howling around her, Scout doesn’t waste time barking at it or whining about it or trying to make it go away on her own. She just runs straight to Mommy, who makes her feel loved and safe until the storm blows over.
Shouldn’t that be my first response, too? How many times, when the storms of material sense were raging all around me, have I tried to get rid of them by snarling and putting up my hackles, or by whining about them, or by taking some other ridiculous action that didn’t do anything to change the situation, when all I really needed to do was run straight to the Father for protection?