I often hear people tell me how smart their dogs are, like they’re qualified to work in a laboratory or something and find a cure for cancer.
But I can’t join in that kind of conversation. The only thing Kobe would do in a lab is find something to pee on.
As I write this, he’s staring at the television, wondering why he can’t run around on the golf course he sees there.
But I have to confess something here…and, boy, is it hard. Lean in, so I don’t have to say it too loud.
Kobe, my 3-year-old golden doodle, has unwittingly taught ME a thing or two in his brief time here on Earth.
So is the picture pretty clear here? Kobe isn’t all that smart, and yet he is my teacher. You must be so proud to know me.
I can think of four things Kobe teaches me.
1. Appreciate The People In Your Driveway.
There is a ticker-tape parade at our house three times a day. When I come home after work, Kobe practically jumps out of his skin. When my wife’s car pulls in the driveway, Kobe acts like she’s returning from a tour of duty in Afghanistan. And when Chloe comes home after school or work, Kobe acts like he wants to shower her with confetti and strike up the band.
This happens every single time someone pulls in our driveway. Every time, no exceptions. Sometimes I get a return celebration if I’ve only run an errand for an hour or so. Kobe acts as if I had been gone a month.
Kobe reminds me to appreciate the loved ones in my life.
Whose car would you love to see pull in your driveway again? My dad has been gone almost five years now; I’d love to see him drive up one more time. My sister Julie passed away earlier this year, and I can only imagine the celebration if she showed up.
We all have people in our lives who mean the world to us, whose graves we will one day weep over. Kobe reminds to me to enjoy their presence, right now, and love them. Life surely won’t be the same without them.
Thanks, Kobe. I need that reminder.
2. Life Is Not All About Me.
Kobe’s enthusiasm for me is appreciated, but if there is a downside to his welcome-home celebrations, it’s that he can sometimes dominate the scene. He misses us, he’s glad to see us, and because he has the mental age of a two-year-old (and this is my teacher), he wants attention. I understand that. So he barks, jumps, and wiggles, all in the name of getting the affection he craves.
I worry that I can try to dominate the scene, too, like everything is all about me. I worry that I sometimes say, in essence, “Forget what you’re talking about, disregard what you want to do, and instead let’s focus on me.”
That’s pretty annoying, isn’t it?
I’ve heard there are two kinds of people in this world. The first one walks into a room and says, “Here I am, let’s talk about me.” The second one walks in and says, “There you are. I’ve been wondering how you’re doing.”
I’m reminded that life goes better, and I feel better, when my focus is on the people around me, and not on me.
There’s a story that says hell is like an elaborate banquet room, with an enormous feast spread out on the tables throughout the room. But everyone in the room is dying of hunger. That's because the people’s arms are so long they aren’t able to feed themselves. They are gradually withering away.
And then the story paints a picture of heaven, with the same banquet room and the same enormous feast. And everyone in the room has the same over-sized arms. But in this room everyone is happy, and life is wonderful. A visitor asks the obvious question: “Why are these people so alive while those in the other room are dying?”
The answer comes quickly.
“Because, here, the people feed each other.”
Kobe reminds me life isn't all about me. Thanks, buddy.
3. I’ll Never Understand Everything.
Kobe wonders why I lock the gate in the back yard, which prevents him from roaming the streets the neighborhood.
He also doesn’t like it when I cram a chunk of peanut butter down his throat so he will swallow his allergy medicine.
And going to the vet? So he can get a shot? Forget it. He fails to see the logic in that whatsoever. He thinks it’s my life’s mission to hurt him, or to take all the fun out of life. I'm sure he has a lot of questions, like why won't I let him eat chocolate, why won't I give him chicken bones, and why won't I let do as he pleases.
It occurs to me I think the same thing sometimes when I consider the Big Picture every now and then.
I see and experience things, and they’re awful, and I wonder what’s going on. Or I wonder why things that seem so enjoyable – like eating Ho Ho’s – aren’t good for me.
I think back to a Philosophy class in college that asked the tough questions: Does God exist? If so, is He really omnipotent? If so, then why is there evil in the world? You would think a loving God would conquer all evil, right now. So, if evil exists, which is it – that God’s not powerful enough to eliminate it, or is it that He just doesn’t want to?
This is a debate that inevitably causes some people, even me sometimes, to question God’s existence.
I attended a fabulous church service a few weeks ago where the visiting speaker described himself as a Christian agnostic. He’s agnostic because he says he can’t know for sure whether God exists. After all, none of us possesses direct evidence; instead, it’s circumstantial. But he said he is a Christian nonetheless believes the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming. Personally, I can relate to that description.
It’s hard to know for sure whether God exists. But I believe He does, even if I don’t understand why bad things happen to good people.
My choice is to get bitter ... or better.
Here’s where Kobe comes in again. If I sent Kobe to school to learn quantum physics or organic chemistry, he would never get it. He’s just not capable, no matter how many ways it might be explained to him. He’d rather just chew up the textbook and go find a desk to pee on (there he goes again). And then he would go around the room looking for a pat on the head.
Kobe lives in the world created for him, and he does just fine – frustrations and all – even if he doesn’t fully understand it.
I think that’s the same attitude I should have, too.
I’m usually around a lot of very smart people, and I rather doubt they will agree with what I’m saying here. So I’ll speak for me. I don’t think my human brain is capable of understanding everything about the world around me, no matter how smart I think I am or how often someone tries to explain it.
In that regard, I believe that the difference between our intellect and God’s is at least the same as the difference between my human intellect and Kobe’s. And truth be known, it’s probably a whole lot more.
The complexity of the planet we live on, and enormity of the universe in which we exist, is way beyond anything I can fathom. I’ll never understand everything. And I’ll likely miss out on a pretty good ride if I walk around bitter and skeptical all the time. I’ve heard it said, “To believe the world simply evolved into being is like believing that a tornado can hit a junkyard and magically create a fully-functioning 747.”
Heavy stuff, huh?
You’d think a dog wouldn’t create such deep thinking in me, but he does.
Here’s my last point. And when I’m done, I need to take Kobe for a walk. I’m telling you, he lives to be pooped out, literally, in more ways than one.
4. Maybe Thumbs Are Overrated.
Because Kobe doesn’t have any thumbs, he has a tough time doing things for himself. Instead, he has to rely on me to do things for him. From the look on his face, he seems quite happy living that type of existence.
I, on the other hand, have thumbs. The blessing about having them is that I can do things Kobe cannot, like open up a can of dog food or open a gate or hold his leash.
The curse of having them is that I can sometimes believe I not only have to do everything for him, but for me, too. I can often believe I am single-handedly responsible for everything that happens to me and for me, and I’m out there all by myself when I do it.
At times, that can make me a vain and proud person. Other times, I can worry and feel insecure.
Yet My Master has told me I don’t have to worry about my life. My master has assured me that everything will be all right. I just have to trust Him.
Just as I will make sure Kobe gets fed, and I make sure he's properly cared for, God makes that promise to me, too. It's my decision on whether to trust Him. It's all part of the total package.
In a few minutes, I'll go to church. I know a lot of good and strong people who don't believe in church and won't go, and I admire their ability to navigate through life without that spiritual direction. For me, I need church the way my car needs a tune up and a full tank of gas every now and then.
Before then, I'll take Kobe for a walk. He's already excited, with his tail wagging and his face smiling. He's ready to go out and attack the day.
For him, it's just a walk, but for me, it's a lesson.
Class is in session.
