Hesed

Her name is Hesed. She just turned a year old, and she’s trying my patience with every passing day. God was supposed to bring me a puppy that would make the perfect service dog — at least, that was my prayer. And it all seemed so perfectly God-aligned.

The breeders had an “accidental” litter, so the price of the puppies was much lower than anyone else was asking. They were so excited when I reached out to them; the wife told me she’d always wanted one of their pups to go into service work. I prayed over it, they prayed over it. I asked God for the right puppy to make itself known, and the next day I got a message that one of the puppies just “felt” right to them for me. That night I had a dream that I should name her Hesed. I knew she was mine.

Hesed is a Hebrew word, and there’s no direct translation for it in English. It’s the word used to describe God’s love for us. A covenant love, a patient love, a faithful love. Lovingkindness, as it’s often translated in the Bible. As I awaited the arrival of my new puppy, I thought about the Lord’s faithfulness, how good He is to me. My heart swelled as I imagined the dog He was sending me, as the ever-present reminder of His unfailing love.

Fast forward a year, and I’m ready to get rid of her.

She is high strung, full of anxiety over anything and everything. She whines constantly. She’s so smart, and learns quickly — when she wants to. She ignores me completely when she doesn’t. She is willful and stubborn and a giant pain most days. When it’s just her and me during the day, when everyone else is at school or work, she is mostly great. She snuggles all day, follows me around, even alerts when my heart rate is out of control. But when anyone else enters the picture? Forget it. She’s unruly and wild and anxious and obnoxious.

It’s gotten to the point that she’s more hindrance than help when it comes to my health. Like, not even close. As I’ve wrestled over what to do the past couple weeks, the irony is not lost on me. I thought this dog was going to symbolize hesed in my life, and I feel like there’s a covenant between God and me here. So how can I possibly think of rehoming her? Wouldn’t that be breaking a covenant? But then…hasn’t God already broken that by giving me a defective service dog?

I continue to wrestle with the situation, with God, over this dog. I can’t help but wonder if I misunderstood God’s intention here. I wanted Him to just give me hesed, in dog form, but I already have his hesed. Always. That is not wrapped in a dog suit. That is forever mine, as I am forever His. So maybe she is here to teach me something else about hesed? The hardest thought to battle is that she isn’t working out for one of two reasons: either a.) God did not keep His promise to me; or b.) It’s me. I don’t deserve hesed. I know that God keeps His promises, so…

What if instead of receiving hesed from this dog, I’m supposed to learn how to give hesed through her? You know, like the old joke about praying for patience and having God give you situations that require patience? I got this dog with the assumption or understanding that she was going to be a service dog; she was going to work for me. Does hesed mean that I love her even if she’s incapable of doing that work? God sure loves me in spite of my disability. That doesn’t tarnish his hesed for me one tiny bit. He doesn’t require me to earn his love, to perform for it. So can I love this dog faithfully even if she can’t perform? And if I can’t stick with it, if our family decides she just isn’t a fit for us, am I failing her? Am I letting God down?

I know I’ve tied way too much into this dog. I had really high expectations of an itty bitty, sweet puppy. I brought God into the mix and that took my expectations even higher. The level of training she needs is beyond my abilities. Her anxiety and reactiveness are off the charts. So maybe, just maybe, this is the point where I need to surrender. Surrender my expectations. Surrender her and the situation to God. Allow her to be who she is, without needing her to be perfect.

xo,