The other night I needed to give Lacey medicine to prevent heart worm, ticks and all the other joyful things the South has to offer dogs. Mind you, for those of you that don't know, Lacey is a Husky/German Shepherd mix. Lacey hates these pills (even with peanut butter) so I have to shove it down her throat and close her mouth and force her to swallow. Lacey, however, is quite smart. The other night, she fake swallowed and spit the stupid pill out. As I groped around for it in the dark (Jason was sick so he was sleeping and I figured if I snuck up on Lacey in the dark she would take the pill easier. Wrong.), I realized that Chloe had shot out from under the bed and eaten the pill. Chloe is not Lacey. Chloe weighs about thirty pounds, whereas Lacey is 60, requiring a much larger dose. Not to mention, Chloe had taken her own version of this medicine about 2 days prior. According to the labels, I had just poisoned Chloe.
I'm going to be honest, until this happened, I didn't even know I loved Chloe. I always thought she was just okay, but kind of annoying. And yet, there I was in tears, frantically waking up Jason and begging him to figure out how to make a dog throw up. Side note: if you ever find yourself in this situation, give them a teaspoon or two of hydrogen peroxide. So we did this and waited, all the while I was throwing a fit and questioning my aptitude at motherhood and Chloe was mortified. She looked at us like we had betrayed her when we made her feel that way. She dry-heaved for about fifteen minutes and finally spit up the pill. I was pretty relieved. But during the whole time and for a long time after, Chloe wouldn't come near us. She couldn't understand why we would let her get sick, even more, why we were the ones that made her sick.
Have you ever felt this way about God? In most discussions I've had with people that don't follow Jesus, their reasons often revolve around "If God loves me, why did x happen to me?" And that is a fair question. Like Chloe, we want to know why we had to throw up. But what if God allowed us to be sick in order that we might avoid death? What if, like Chloe, we need something that will help get the poison out of us? What if God knows that we will never recognize our sin and our need for him if we never face troubles in life or consequences for our actions? And what if God loves us so much that he will watch us go through that in order to keep us from dying from the poison we have ingested called sin?
I would argue that this is precisely one way God uses the pain and the troubles of our lives to draw us close to him. I'm not saying he causes them (that is a whole different theological debate that I won't get into here), but I promise you he uses them. And please don't think God takes joy in our pain. Rather, I think it breaks God's heart to see us hurt. After all, he wept when Lazarus died and was troubled when he saw his friend Mary weeping (John 11).
As silly as it may be, I think I understand a little more just how painful it is for God to watch us struggle after this situation with Chloe (I dread how realistic it will be when this baby of mine arrives). I think I understand it better because, though I suppose I do love Chloe, it is nothing compared to God's love for us. And still, in my tiny amount of affection for Chloe, I was devastated to know that we were going to allow her to drink something that would make her sick. Well, in her case, it was forced and I couldn't even do it, I made Jason do it. I know during this time Chloe didn't feel loved by what we did and yet, had we not made her sick, she would have died. I ask you: which outcome reflected a greater love from us? Sick for the night or dead forever?
You see, sometimes our pains and troubles can act like antidotes for the sin in our lives. When things finally blow up, it is then that we often look to God. Does it taste good going down? Not a chance. But if, in the end, it saves our lives from the pits of Hell, I would say it's worth it. Wouldn't you?
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