New Year’s Eve, 2012. Last day of another year. I’m in my writing corner with my camera nearby and Nick spots . . . Devil Dog.
Yes, Rose is now 15 months old and still a bit devilish. She knows it too. Out she comes from the bathroom with a washcloth firmly clenched in her mouth. She sets all four legs firm and looks straight at Nick. We could both see the devilish look in her eyes and, yes, we CAN read her mind.
“Just TRY to get this from me! Come on! I double dog dare you!”
Let the games begin! The excitement of the moment was like watching the Olympic torch bearer light the flame.
Over the bed, around the bed, in and out of the room they ran. Loud laughter and playful growls filled the air. And then, he landed on the floor—one corner of the washcloth in his hand—one corner of the washcloth between her teeth.
It was like watching an alligator wrestle its prey, only nicer. She would not let go. Neither would he. She yanked him around and he wrestled her to the ground, over and over. Two stubborn creatures refused to let go of each other.
Ever wrestle with God? Every now and then, I do.
I have two wrestling arenas—the car and the field. I can be really loud with God in both places. Yes, other drivers probably think I’ve lost my mind when they see my vein-popping red face screaming and I’m the only one in the car. Yes, I probably scare the wildlife half to death on my field rants. But there’s something special about knowing you can wrestle with God. There’s something special about pouring out ugly and sad and mad and scared and discovering God doesn’t squash you like a bug, though He could. He blesses instead.
Sometimes I’m blessed like Job with a “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundation?” line of questioning. Even then, there’s something so holy about being put in your place—something so freeing and safe feeling about having God give you proper perspective.
Sometimes God just listens quietly and holds me gently but firmly in his embrace. Mad melts and tears of thankfulness flow finding God already knows my darkest thoughts, my hurting heart, and waits for this moment of honesty—for the moment when I break down and break open and allow Him to come and hold me in love. I have fallen flat out in the prairie fields where only the birds can stare and I have sobbed thanks to the One who loves me enough to let me wrestle with Him like that.
Surely, this new year will bring hard days—some that might push to the brink. But nothing is too hard for God. And even if I have to wrestle with Him, I’m not letting go till He blesses me. And Hewill never let go of me, no matter how much I wrestle. Because you can’t wrestle if you’re not connected. And connected is how He wants us.
And when the wrestling ends . . .
Face to face, wrapped in embrace.
Love. This is true love—double dog daring to wrestle with God to the end of yourself and all you think you are and have—finding you’re nothing, yet everything, to the One who made you for Himself.
Need to wrestle with God over something?
I double dog dare you!
I dare you to get blessed.
Job replied to God’s questions with humility gained:
“Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know. . . My ears had heard of you but now my eyes have seen you.” Job 42:3,5