Where Do You Think You’re Going?

I have a confession to make: my dog is more socially determined than I am.

Let me set the scene. Jason's parents were visiting, and we were all gathered in the living room, food trays in front of us, enjoying dinner together. Meanwhile, Tess had been served her meal in the adjoining room, close enough to hear the laughter and smell the good food, but not quite with us. Well, apparently, Tess had a thing or two to say about that.

That crazy dog picked up her food bowl (without spilling a single bite, mind you), carried it across the floor, and set it down right in the middle of the living room. Then she looked up at us as if to say, "There. That's better," and went right back to eating. No drama. No apology. Just a dog who knew exactly where she wanted to be and did what it took to get there.

Honestly? I couldn't argue with her logic.

As funny as it was, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Tess wasn't about to let a minor inconvenience keep her from where the people she loved were gathered. She had a goal, she had a bowl, and she was not about to sit alone when fellowship was just a room away.

How often do I let far less stop me from drawing near to the Lord?

Sometimes life serves us our quiet time in a separate room, doesn't it? The circumstances aren't ideal. The timing feels off. The house is too noisy, or we're too tired, or the day has already gotten away from us before we've even laced up our shoes. And so we stay put, eating alone (spiritually speaking) when the presence of God is right there, waiting.

The Apostle Paul wrote from a prison cell, which was not exactly prime quiet-time conditions: "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content" (Philippians 4:11). But Paul's contentment wasn't a passive shrug. It was an active reaching toward Christ, prayer, and that place of communion that no circumstance could fully wall off. He didn't wait for ideal conditions to seek the Lord. He picked up his bowl and walked in.

There's a beautiful little phrase tucked into James 4:8 that I love: "Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you." Draw nigh. It's an old-fashioned phrase for an old-fashioned idea. Closeness with God doesn't just happen while we're waiting around for the perfect moment. It requires movement. It requires intention. It requires us to pick up whatever we're carrying and walk toward Him.

Maybe your "bowl" today is a worn-out Bible and five minutes before the kids wake up. Maybe it's a tear-stained prayer with no eloquent words. Maybe it's just getting up off the couch and sitting still long enough to remember that He is there. Whatever it looks like for you, bring it. Bring all of it. He's not waiting for you to have it all together before you're welcome at the table.

Tess didn't wait for a formal invitation. She didn't wait until she had a nicer bowl or until the room was quieter. She simply knew where she belonged, and she went.

May we be half as determined.