Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

I deeply believe in miracles wrought by the hand of our omnipotent God. I believe in them because I have seen them. I also believe in the lessons those miracles teach us. I believe in them because I have learned from them. Five and a half years ago I learned an exquisite lesson from a miracle I was almost embarrassed to ask for.

In an attempt to deter our youngest child’s request for a baby, we added a puppy to our family. She was an adorable little ball of black and tan weighing in at 5 whole pounds. What she lacked in size she made up for in sass and spunk. We named her Delilah. 

We picked her up on a cold February day, wrapped her in a blanket, and set out for home. She cried the entire way. She wasn’t used to it. She didn’t know us. She wanted her brothers and the puppy pile they slept in. She wanted the cage and the heat lamp. She wanted the familiar. She didn’t realize we were going to take better care of her than some stinky cage with a bunch of brothers. She didn’t know she had a huge pen with brand new, hand-sewn blankets, lined with toys waiting for her. She didn’t know, couldn’t know. She hadn’t seen it, so she didn’t trust. 

We didn’t know either, the kind of care she would end up needing. The first few weeks were fun and adventurous. Vet visits. Chewed shoes. Spilled laundry baskets. Potty training. Leash training. Puppy cuddles. She wiggled her way deep into all our hearts. 

Just as we were settling in and she was learning things, Delilah went to the vet for her second set of vaccines. Within a short period of time, we saw something was terribly wrong. Her back legs became stiff and would barely move. I had to carry her outside, bring her food to where she lay. She didn’t play with the toys anymore. She was clearly deteriorating. 

 We rushed her back to the vet. They ran a multitude of tests, collaborated with the local veterinary college, and treated her for everything they thought could possibly be causing her decline. Eventually, they determined she was having a negative reaction to the vaccines. The knowledge was good, but nothing was healing our pup. We were heartbroken and worried and scared. Every day we waited and hoped and watched for improvement. 

One evening, while reminding God how adversely my youngest would be affected by the loss of her pet, I felt compelled to place my hands on Delilah and pray over her. Now, I’ve always believed in putting our hands on people and praying over them for whatever their need or situation might be. But a dog? I’ve never known anyone to do that. I wasn’t even sure it was proper. I did know this. God cares about the sparrows and the wildflowers, names the stars in the sky, and tells the ocean where to stop on the beach. So, surely He also cares about a little black-eyed puppy whose life seemed to be hanging in the balance. (Matthew 6:25-34; Psalm 147:4; Job 38:10-11; Jeremiah 5:22; Acts 6:5-6)

Gathering up the remnants of my depleted faith, I walked over to where Delilah was stretched out on her side. Kneeling beside her on the floor, I put my hands on her hind legs and I prayed. I don’t remember the words. I have no idea what they were. I do remember the fear, the worry, the angst. I remember the tears. I also remember that when we got up the next morning, Delilah’s back legs were better. There were still some kinks in her step and some stiffness in her body, but she was so much better than the night before. 

Encouraged by the answer and impatient for a full recovery, I got down on my knees, laid my hands on her, and prayed a second time. I still don’t know what I said. It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t instantaneous, but we began to see marked improvement. Day by day she recovered more and more. Today you have to watch closely to know anything was ever wrong with her or that she has to spend hours at the vet having antihistamine injections every time she gets vaccines. Most people don’t notice her back legs move differently than a normal dog. It doesn’t slow her down. More than five years later, our miracle dog is still mischievously wreaking havoc and indiscriminately doling out cuddles because God miraculously rescued her, not because we couldn’t have gotten another puppy, or even to save us the heartache, but because I needed the lesson that miracle taught. The lesson of rest and trust in God. (James 1:2-4; Romans 5:3-5)

Every time I meet with circumstances whose answers look impossible, improbable, or inconceivable, God takes me back to the moment I prayed in meager faith over a little black and tan puppy and watched Him rescue her. I remind myself of other things too. Things God has done. Miraculous things. Big things. Little things. Situations He’s made possible. Mountains He’s made passable. Unlikelihoods He’s made probable. I remember those things and I get it. I understand. I comprehend. In the depths of my heart, I know. God is omnipotent and He’s got us. The knowledge makes my soul rest. 

What amazes me is that the disciples were even slower learners than I. They were exasperatingly obtuse. They had front-row seats! How could they have missed it? How could they be fussing over the fact they had remembered only one loaf of bread when they had Jesus right there with them? How could their dinner have more importance than the lesson Jesus was trying to teach? Hadn’t they been watching? Hadn’t they seen? Were their memories so short they couldn’t call to mind the 5 loaves that fed 5,000 and created enough leftovers for a multitude of to-go boxes? Had they suffered amnesia concerning the 4,000 fed by seven loaves and the massive amounts of leftovers then? What was wrong with them? Why didn’t they get it? Why didn’t they see it? Why didn’t they understand who was dwelling with them, walking among them, working through them? (Matthew 14:13-21; John 6:1-14)

Jesus asked those very questions. He seems frustrated. He has every right to be. He’s trying to warn them about the trash the Pharisees are selling and they are busy worrying about food. Were they really that ignorant? They had seen Jesus perform miracle after miracle. He’d healed people, fed people, turned water to wine. It was ridiculous of them to believe He would let His disciples starve because they had forgotten to bring along extra bread. It was preposterous of them to think Jesus’ warning about the Pharisaical teachings of the world had anything to do with actual food. But they did. In frustration, after rattling off a litany of miracles they had witnessed, Jesus ends His diatribe by asking, “Do you still not get it? Don’t you know Who you are riding with? Is it still unclear whom you are following? Do you still doubt My abilities? Doubt My care? Are you still uncertain Who I am? After all you have seen and heard, don’t you get it yet?” (Mark 8:11-21; John 2:1-11; Matthew 8:14-17)

He could be talking to us. We too, put more emphasis on the physical than the eternal. We, too, forget the lessons of past answered prayers and observed miracles. We find ourselves in an unfortunate, unpleasant, untenable situation and immediately forget what we know about God. We forget who He is. We forget what He’s done. We focus on our earthly needs and lose sight of the spiritual lessons He is trying to teach us. Faith. Trust. Hope. Confidence. Comprehension that, no matter what, He is God, He is with us, and we are under His divine care.

The evil one doesn’t want you to remember those lessons. He wants you to be drawn aside by worry and fear about your past choices, current circumstances, future possibilities. He doesn’t want you to remember all the times God has proven Himself to be more than enough. He doesn’t want you to focus on your spiritual health and trust God with the rest. He wants to keep you sidetracked with your current conundrum so all that fear, anxiety, stress, and worry will distract you from following God. 

Don’t do it. Don’t let him win. Don’t let him distract you with the things of the world, the cares of life, the anxieties that plague your mind. Look back. Remember what you have seen and heard. Remember all the miracles God has done in your life, your church, your circle of friends. Then throw your faith in Him. Refuse to be distracted. Trust God to do His part, stay the course, and follow hard after Jesus.  (Psalm 63:8; Hosea 6:3a; Psalm 25:15; Psalm 141:8)

There’s a 5-and-a-half-year-old black and tan, 65-pound, floppy-eared, overexuberant, over-talkative, sparkly-eyed dog running around my house today. Her manners are slightly deplorable. Some days she’s ridiculously annoying. I love her like crazy. She is a living, breathing, bed-hogging reminder that there is no one like my God. She is also a reminder that no matter what upset I am facing, God’s got it. I can trust Him to handle it. I don’t need to hover over Him with ideas and input. I don’t need to worry. I simply need to remember what I know about Him, what I have learned about Him in the past, keep spiritual focus, and let God be God. And I’m trying because I get it now. 

I don’t know what’s worrying you today. I have no idea what you fret over in the wee hours of the morning. Income. Health. Housing. Employment. I do know these things. God will, in His own way, His perfect time, always take care of His people. I know you can trust Him. I know He doesn’t want you to spend even one more minute worrying over things you can’t control, can’t change, can’t do. What He wants is for you to roll your cares, concerns, conundrums over on Him, trust Him to handle them, and determinedly resolve not to be drawn aside by the theories of the world but to follow Him no matter what. I get it now. Do you? (I Peter 5:7; Philippians 4:6-7, 19; Psalm 55:22; Luke 12:7; Ecclesiastes 3:1; Proverbs 3:5-6)