From the Rector…
Our dogs’ favorite toy is a little squeaky red ball with white and green polka dots. I’m not sure why they all love it so much, but if one dog is playing with it, you can see all the others watching closely, calculating the perfect opportunity to steal it. It’s like the One Ring from The Lord of the Rings. It is their “precious.”
The ball itself isn’t anything special. It’s just a toy. Amazingly, there is never a dog fight over it. The others patiently wait and watch the one playing with it until it gets tossed too far or rolls under the couch. Then it’s fair game.
Of course, when the ball disappears beneath the couch, every dog in the room springs into action. They shove their noses underneath, leaving nothing visible but furry backsides and wagging tails. Their reasoning skills leave a little to be desired because every paw they stick under the couch only pushes the ball farther away.
Eventually, Steve or I take mercy on them and retrieve the ball. They are always eager to help, sticking their noses in our faces to make sure we know exactly where the ball is hiding. Once we rescue it, they all sit expectantly, waiting to see who gets it next. Usually, we give it back to the dog who had it last, though every now and then we show a little favoritism to the one who seems most left out.
Watching this unfold reminds me how easily we become captivated by things that are, in themselves, perfectly good. The red ball isn’t evil. But it becomes the center of the dogs’ little world. Jesus said, “Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also” (Matthew 6:21). Careers, hobbies, politics, possessions, even ministries can quietly become our own version of “the precious.” None of them are bad. The danger comes when they begin to command our attention and shape our identity more than God does.
The scene under the couch also feels surprisingly familiar. The harder the dogs try to rescue the ball themselves, the farther away it rolls. Isn’t that often true for us? We exhaust ourselves trying to fix every problem through our own effort, forgetting to pause, pray, and ask for God’s help. Like Paul in Romans 7:15, we discover that our best intentions and our own strength are not always enough.
The good news is that God does not stand at a distance, waiting for us to figure everything out. God enters our predicaments with grace. Like a loving parent stooping to retrieve a toy just beyond a child’s reach, God comes alongside us—not to scold us for getting stuck, but to help us find our way again.
When Steve or I return the ball, we do it with affection. We aren’t annoyed by the dogs’ delight because their joy brings us joy. I suspect God is something like that. God delights in our happiness and also loves us enough to keep redirecting our hearts whenever we mistake one of God’s gifts for the Giver himself. In the end, true joy is found not in clutching our own “precious,” but in resting in the One who treasures us most.
Light and Life,
Candice+