Playing God Like a Devilish Dog

Over Christmas Break…

I woke up before the crack of dawn to cruel reality, and laid in bed for what seemed like three hours straight from Hell. My heart felt like a lion had mauled it to shreds of stringy tissue that would never beat freely as a whole again. As the light of dawn leaked through my window, I felt it must be mocking me. How dare the world go on while I lay in such a state? Time passed, and the light only shown brighter, further fueling the hellish heat of my heart to its boiling point. I had to get up! I had to get out! If I didn’t, I knew I’d screech like a kettle, and I wouldn’t risk my family awaking angrily.

My feet hit the floor and I scrambled to clothe myself. With two sparkly, fuzzy green and red knee-high socks, faded black sweatpants, a grey and teal knit hat, one unbelievably puffy white ski coat, and my white and purple Nikes, you’d think I was ready to walk a fashion run-way, not brave the cold winter outside and within my soul. I stepped out the door, closed it quietly behind me, and made my way across the driveway and the lawn to the cherry orchards behind my parents’ house. The bare nakedness of the trees, the dead grass under my feet, and the cloudiness of the sky oddly comforted me.

Just as I began walking on the dirt road through the trees, I heard pounding footsteps and panting behind me. Before I had a chance to turn around, my family’s dog, Buster, came charging next to me. Someone must have let him outside. Too tired to force him back to the yard, I let him join me, though his hyper, tail-wagging eagerness destroyed the dim, free, solitary environment I was seeking. I walked on briskly. It was an outlet for my passionate heart, and my soul was grateful for the movement. 

God, if you exist, answer my questions! Free me from my pain!

No answer. I walked on.

As I continued my journey, I became frustrated with the fact that I had to keep making sure Buster was following the trail we were on and didn’t wander off track as he was prone to do. All those random weeds and whatnot were just too distracting. But on we trudged, just the two of us. Buster enthusiastic about every new bush on which to sniff and pee, and me pulling his attention back to our quest—moving forward.

When we reached a large bend in the road, I realized what I wanted was to find a place to sit and think and cry freely if need be. A log jutting out of a slope, just off of the gravel road we had found ourselves on, seemed like the best option I had seen. I sat on the log underneath a large tree and looked out over the meadow before me. I wished the meadow wasn’t fenced in or near a house. I needed a meadow to run free in without being watched. I decided that was one thing Heaven would hold if it existed. It would hold my own personal, endless meadow, free of human disturbances save mine, without any obstacles, and in which I could run straight ahead forever with nothing to stop me. But here I was again, fenced out of someone else’s meadow, and sitting on someone else’s log that I probably shouldn’t be sitting on.

I watched as Buster roamed around me, sniffing just about every inch of ground and bush and tree, and occasionally me as well. What would it be like to be a dog—so carefree and enthralled by the simplest things? To be so simple, overly curious, excitable, and trusting seemed freer somehow, yet I resented the idea of being simple. It has always been an inner struggle for me to both long for and loath simplicity. I resent being simple, yet at the same time, am driven mad in attempts to understand myself.

Then the question came to mind: is the relationship between Buster and me any similar to the relationship between God and me? Is it an equal ratio? Not really, I guess. I mean, God created me and I sure didn’t create Buster. And God knows everything about me and the way I work, but I can’t say the same for Buster and me. And I must be even wilder to God than Buster is to me. I paused my thoughts long enough to notice that I couldn’t see Buster anywhere. I called his name a couple times and he came trotting back obediently. I always regretted ordering the poor guy around. I didn’t like having anyone else in control of me either. Why couldn’t I just reign entirely free of others’ control…of God’s control?

I want to believe in God, but in times when I don’t receive what I desperately want or need, I have a hard time believing that God could exist at all. I mean, what a jerk! If He’s there and exists and created me and loves me, how dare He watch me or anyone else suffer and do nothing to stop it? Am I right? How dare He allow imperfection and not fix it? That perhaps is the greatest frustration for me. A perfect God created a world full of seeming randomness and imperfections. I’d like the world to be all one big perfectly solvable, objective mathematical equation graphed out with plenty of explanatory footnotes just for me, please! Don’t leave me hanging without a proper explanation. Yet at the same time, the idea of there not being a God, and everything being in my control is terrifying to me. I want to believe that someone is taking care of me and is in control.

As I ranted to God about all of the above and told Him how angry I was at Him for my current life situation, Buster began trying his best to snatch away a stick I had unconsciously been swinging around. I teased him a little, then let him have it. I picked up another and began playing with it. Buster immediately dropped the one he had and tried to take that one from me too. How funny. There were sticks lying everywhere around us that he could have played with, but the only one that would catch his interest was any one that I had. When I wouldn’t let him have it he’d try and climb on top of me to prove his dominance, and I shoved him away. I didn’t want to play like that. It was one of those things that are annoying but lovable at the same time and make you laugh. Is that how God sees me too? Always challenging Him to duels? I always think that my challenging God must anger Him or annoy Him, and I guess maybe that’s part of the reason why I do it. I need to get back at Him for everything. But I can just imagine God, with all of His power, only laughing at my sorry attempts. Again, jerk.

Eventually Buster and I trudged back home. At this point, I was completely furious with God, throwing verbal fireballs in His face and imagining myself punching Him as hard as I could. I didn’t care if I hurt Him or if He’d hurt me because of it. I couldn’t hurt more than I was now anyway, and how dare He not at least help distract me from my pain by showing me some other passion to work toward?

Buster acted just the same as always until he ran ahead of me and waited for me at the edge of our yard. When I reached him, he unexpectedly pounced at me, jumping on me and biting at my coat. It freaked me out and I yelled at him to get down. He ran around a little more then pounced back at me doing the same thing. This time he was really hurting me, but I managed to knee him away. I could tell he was about to do it again, but before he had a chance, I kicked him in the nose causing him to whimper, lay down on the ground in submission, and look at me with sad eyes. I felt remorseful after Buster looked at me like that. But I didn’t know any other way to get through to him that he couldn’t do that, that he was hurting me. He didn’t speak human. 

A thought occurred to me that that must, to some extent, be how God had to deal with me. I mean, He has greater power and created me so should at least know how to deal with me on a personal level. But I don’t know how the universe works, I don’t know what the future holds, I don’t know what my specific purpose is if I have one, I don’t understand why pain exists, and I particularly don’t understand why God couldn’t at least answer my questions. But I have some sort of assumption that if I were handed an outline of the whole system of the world and why everything happens and if it’s all random and a lot of it’s chance, or if there was a purpose for my disappointments and hurt, etc, etc, etc…that I’d be able to understand it all or that it would make me feel better. And maybe at this point in time (or maybe never), I just wouldn’t be able to grasp it. Maybe the answers are there right in front of my face and I can’t see them, because my mind is limited.

Maybe sometimes you just have to trust God, because trying to understand it all has failed you, going it alone has failed you, trying to be in control has failed you, and resentment and stubbornness have gotten you nothing but a heart that refuses to mend. Maybe it’s delusion. Maybe not. But at this point, what have I to lose?