Letting Him do His job

I just could not remember.

Was there one pill left in the bottle? 2? 10?

This was my second emergency vet visit in 3 weeks, and my mini–Australian Shepherd had done it again. I was upstairs hurriedly putting on my makeup before heading to Wilmington to meet with two friends who I don’t get to see often. I came downstairs to a chewed bottle cap sitting on the living room floor.

Not again.

Gracie (oh, how her name is significant) was in her “secret corner” where she goes when she does something wrong. And inside of her uncharacteristically cute snout was an acetaminophen bottle. I just froze in the living room. I could not believe that she had somehow broken into another pill bottle. Ironically, just three weeks prior, she had swallowed 8 of my mom’s thyroid pills when my parents were in town over the holidays. They say Aussies are too smart for their own good, and when they get bored, they tend to get themselves into trouble.

I rushed Gracie to the vet for another dose of apomorphine to force what was in her little tummy to come out. Unfortunately, very little came out ­– only half a pill. The problem is I just did not know how many pills she ate.

How many were in the bottle? The vet kept asking. And, I just kept racking my brain.

The vet had to go into surgery and the vet tech came out saying they needed to call pet poison control to figure out what to give my sweet furry girl to flush out her system.

I think you need to take her to the pet ER. They may need to keep her overnight, check her liver, and put her on an IV.

What?!

Like on autopilot, I got into the car to drive to the ER and called the person I call in crisis: Dad.

Dad and I began calculating how much it would cost for Gracie to go to the ER as well as how much I thought she had eaten, if any at all. (I have been known to leave an empty bottle on my night stand before, could that have happened again?) The $ dollar $ signs just kept increasing in my mind the closer I got to the animal hospital. Gracie just stared at me ­from the backseat like nothing was wrong. After using my dad as a sounding board and asking God to extend mercy on my sweet puppy, I made the decision. I was going to believe that tiny voice in my head that said, “Let it go.”

Could I lose her? Yes.

Could I afford to pay for a 24-hour visit to the ER that may or may not fix the problem (if there even was a problem). No.

I called the vet back and left a message with the receptionist.

I’m just going to pray that she is okay.

I could hear resignation in my own voice. In that moment, I felt a kind of relief. My hands loosened their grip on the steering wheel, and peace began to rest on me. The car fell silent, and I could hear the tires gently glide across the asphalt as I made the turn towards home. Questions began to brew in my head:

Would I regret this decision? Could I lose her over this?

How could I not remember how many pills were in the bottle?

Why did I not get pet insurance?

Why don’t I remember details like this?

How could I leave a bottle out when she’s done things like this before?

Then, I became accusatory and honest.

God, why would you allow this to happen? I’m so mad at you.

It was in that moment, the vet’s office called me back. I wasn’t even finished letting God have it when the receptionist said to me, “The vet wants you to bring her back and we’re going to run a few tests and monitor her today. You don’t need to go to the ER.”

Really?!

Yes, really.  

I couldn’t believe it. Gracie in the arms of the Vet she knew was exactly what I needed to hear. As I dropped her off, I felt the Lord’s presence gently come upon my car like He was sitting in the passenger seat next to me, reminding me of our conversation. It’s as if he said:

Now, Rachel, what were saying to me? You’re angry, huh?

Suddenly, I realized that I had to face the sheer reality that I was angry, and my anger had caused me to question God’s goodness again. I was waiting for something not to pan out. I was waiting for tragedy to strike ­– for God to sit back while I watched my sweet furry girl who I embarrassingly love like a human be taken away. I know this sounds alarmingly morbid. Even admitting these thoughts seems almost evil when I acknowledge the unbelievable grief that many are walking through currently – and even the seemingly unbearable sadness that I have felt before when losing a human who I love.

And, yet, these honest thoughts directed towards the Person who has all-power to fix, heal, comfort, and transform seemed so absolutely right. God and I had this moment of deep intimacy in the car where I began to get honest with Him about some fears, doubts, and uncertainties (unrelated to Gracie), and He began to remind me again of His perfect goodness, kindness, and faithfulness (over the course of my life). This necessary exchange precipitated all because of a dog popping pills on a Monday.

In that raw, transparent moment with my Savior, He reminded me of His sovereignty next to my inability to control. How much energy do I spend trying to take God’s job away from Him? But, when I look back on the ways He has carried out His responsibilities, He always has a superior performance evaluation. In fact, He always has a perfect performance evaluation.

Gracie ended up being okay. Her mom, on the other hand, was the one who needed to be “monitored” that Monday.

While this day felt like a “crisis averted” kind of day, I have gotten the phone call that has turned out differently. Life can be full of devastating news, and yet, even in those moments, God has a way of showing up – swooping in – full of hope, full of peace, and full of control.

As Christians, I think sometimes we filter out our prayers to God – not wanting to name the thoughts and feelings He already knows. Maybe due to our own pride or vanity. But like He does with Job (Job 38), God is used to speaking into the dark places of our hearts, minds, and souls. He’s used to being questioned. He’s used to entering into suffering with us. He actually thrives in those moments.

What if we let Him do His job?