It Takes Training

Do you remember when I first started this blog and I would write reflections on occurrences at my ridiculous job? You know, that housekeeping (i.e. gophering) thing I do at "Nashville's premier bed and breakfast and event location". Well, it has been awhile since anything here has inspired more than growing feelings of disgust and discontent. Though those feelings still exist (but are lessening, thanks to an attitude check), I have found something valuable from the time that I have spent here recently. And by time, I mean the last two days and the entire next two weeks. You see, I am house-sitting, dog-watching, business-running, and working while the owner and his new bride are jet-setting across Europe.

I came into this stint expecting to do very little, and showed up on Thursday to a handful of surprises, one of which was the one-page typed instruction sheet for the couple's six-month old Old English Sheepdog named Kirbie May McShaggypants Demonbreun (yes, that is her official name given on the adoption certificate from the Kennel Club). Kirbie is a handful. In fact, that is a bit of an understatement. The dog has a schedule more detailed than that of an infant human, and to many degrees, I am not following it completely. I do not have the luxury of caring nor the ability to spend my time giving the dog a daily pampering. And not only this, but she understands and obeys absolutely no commands, though her owner insists on the use of them. But my thought is, really, what good is it to tell the dog to do something if she isn't trained to do it?

Despite my cynicism and obvious lack of patience for this dog, something has occurred to me. I notice that when I deal with Kirbie, I either do one of two things: I lose all sense of sanity and yell at her like a maniac or, I talk to her in a way so as to help her understand and give her time to figure it out. I'll admit, I am mostly guilty of approaching her in the first way, but when I muster up the character necessary to do the latter, the results are rather surprising. For instance, I just finished taking her out to "go potty, Kirbie" and as we came into the house, she wouldn't stop jumping on me. And just so you know, a six-month old sheepdog is as big as a greyhound (and looks like one when they get their summer cut). I don't like it when she jumps, so I yelled at her to stop and she continued. That, of course, adds fuel to my fire and I want to throw down right then and there. I promise, though, I am good to animals.

With my blood pressure rising with every jump and my maniac tactic failing, I finally stopped and looked her straight in the eyes and said a small but forceful "down, Kirbie." With that, she ceased, and we retired to the master suite for her scheduled lounging time. It did take a few minutes to see positive results from my "lay down, Kirbie" command, but it eventually worked nonetheless.

I hate to admit it, but I feel like my mind is sometimes as uncontrollable as this tiresome puppy. Even more unfortunate for me, is the fact that most of the time, I know better. To be honest, the struggle in my mind often relates to overanalyzation, doubt, fear, and emotion gone overboard. Why is it that I can function as a normal human being at certain times and then at others, I am positive that someone should soon admit me to a psych ward? And this isn't only during those times a person, such as myself, might be expected to act that way. And what of God's control of my mind and his commands for me to "take captive" my thoughts and to "renew my mind"? Eugene Peterson's interpretation of 2 Corinthians 10:5 suggests "fitting every loose thought and emotion and impulse into the structure of life shaped by Christ," knowing that "our tools are ready at hand for clearing the ground of every obstruction and building lives of obedience into maturity."

God's responsibility in this is significant in that he equips and then we act on it. No matter how much I pray for the ability to control my mind and my emotions, if I don't allow myself the time necessary to grasp and then grow in it, I will never get there. And so, in dealing with myself on those "psych ward" days, I can either do one of two things: I can go even more mad with frustration and impatience towards my inability to think reasonably or, I can coach myself with each thought, giving growth and obedience the time to show up.

If you are anything like me, it's hard to go easy on yourself on this subject, especially if you are a girl who would rather not be so much like a girl in the emotional sense. In a lot of ways, I feel like I should be way past this sort of thing and well on my way to thoughts free of emotion, fear, and insecurity. But the way to combat my disposition is not to abuse myself for it, verbally or mentally. The best method is patience and understanding, giving yourself credit for the times when you haven't let your mind get the best of you and in the heat of difficult moments, simply replacing lies with truths. God has given us at least that much, and we all have some level of training left to participate in, no matter what stage of life or relationships.

So here's to cutting myself and this crazy dog some slack, hoping ultimately for the best - in wisdom, obedience, control, and maturity.