I had reached a terrible place in my spiritual walk. I was wandering in the wilderness—again. I was well acquainted with the wilderness, having been there often, usually as the result of some life-altering event. One such time followed the death of my father in 1984, after an extended illness. I was profoundly impacted by his suffering, and as a “daddy’s girl,” I felt the loss deeply when he went home to the Lord. But, rather than reaching out to the God of all comfort, I turned my face to the wall and then wandered off into the wilderness. It took me a long time to return.

Throughout life I have found that I follow an all-too-familiar pattern in dealing with trials. I go into the wilderness and hang out alone and depressed, refusing comfort—from God, from family, from friends, from anyone or anything whatsoever. I suspect that I began this pattern when I was only about eighteen months old. I don’t remember the particular incident that follows here, but my daddy remembered it well and told it to me often. He would smile as he recounted the story, but the smile couldn’t mask the painful nostalgia in his tone and the slight mist in his eyes.

The year was 1945, and Daddy was home on leave from the Navy. Being too young to remember ever having seen him before, I wanted nothing to do with him. Daddy always had a soft spot for children, so it especially grieved him to be shunned by his own infant daughter. He plied me with candy, cookies, and a toy or two, and eventually won me over. Soon we were inseparable, and he became my hero. As his constant companion, I clung to him everywhere he went—just Daddy and me. I’m sure my sister, Sylvia, also came along with us, but with my arms locked around his neck, my eyes were only on Daddy.

Alas, the day came when he had to return to duty, and I didn’t understand why I had to let him go. My infantile mind couldn’t comprehend war and service to country. I was inconsolable. Daddy wanted to give me a parting embrace, but I stood stiffly in the corner, face to the wall, sobbing, and vehemently waving off anyone’s attempt to comfort me. Daddy left with a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.

Apparently, that incident started a pattern that has continued throughout my life. I call it my “wilderness journey.” Whenever something goes terribly wrong, I don’t run to my Father God for comfort. Instead, I go off into an emotional wasteland where I try desperately not to feel the pain.
 
The wilderness journey which forms the backdrop of this book was brought about by the deaths of both my mother and my stepfather, within a few weeks’ time in 2001—the 9/11 terrorist attack occurring in the middle of that time. I was left feeling confused, lost and abandoned. Intellectually, I knew that God had not forsaken me, and I longed to reconnect emotionally, yet the wilderness engulfed my soul, and I felt powerless in its hold.

It was during this spiritual badlands interval that God gave me a very special gift in the person of a tiny puppy whom I call “Bandit.” As I began caring for Bandit and his needs, God began to reveal His special care and love for me in ways that I had never understood before. As remarkable as it may seem, God started teaching me through a puppy.

Bandit is now four years old, and I continue to learn from him daily as my heart swells with ever increasing love for him—not because of anything he does, but just because he IS. He doesn’t have to earn my love. I love him because he is. That’s all. He doesn’t need to DO anything. He just needs to BE. I am reminded that God created us as human BEings, not as human DOings. He loves us just because we ARE.

I love Bandit simply because of the fellowship I enjoy with him. And I love him because he seems to love me. He seems to love being in my presence just sitting and “communing” with me—in whatever ways a dog can commune with a human. I fancy that my relationship with God is in some ways analogous. He is high above me, and His language and wisdom greatly surpass mine, yet we have a line of communication that transcends our differences and celebrates our sameness.

Having lived through a childhood fraught with the need to be accepted and just to be loved, I have come to the marvelous realization that God loves me regardless. I am His and He is mine and His banner over me is love. (Song of Solomon 6:3 and 2:4.)

As you read through this book, I pray that you will come to see the Father’s great love for you in a new and fresh way that ministers to your heart and spirit right where you are in your own spiritual journey.

FREE SHIPPING

Copyright © 2007 by Fran A. Wood
All rights reserved