More Biblical Lessons From a Dog Named Radley

This past weekend my roommate was out-of-town, and since Radley and I were "home alone," it seemed like a great time to start teaching him some things. So, with treats in hand, I crouched down and started the arduous process of repeating, over and over again, "Radley, come. Come, Radley. Come. Come." At first, it didn't even seem to register to him, and I'm pretty sure the first time he wandered over to me (there was nothing intentional about it), he had no idea what he was doing. But he got the treat anyway, and a lot of goofy praise from me. Slowly, he realized what was going on, and now when I say, "Radley, come," he does.

Here's the interesting thing: he comes reluctantly. By now he knows the routine. He sees the treat in my hand, and he knows that it's a treat, which he loves, and he knows that the sooner he gets to me, the sooner he gets the treat. I'm crouched low, on his level, so I'll be as "un-scary" as possible, and not once have I called him to me when I didn't give him the treat. This is a good thing for him. I am calling and offering something so good, something he loves, along with lots of praise and petting, and yet he comes reluctantly, timidly, unsure of what's happening, and on his guard. Seems ridiculous, right? He should be joyfully running toward me, don't you thi. . . huh? what's that?

Excuse me just a minute. God, who claims to be my Abba, Father, and offers nothing but good things for me, who sent his Son to die for me, who longs for fellowship with me, who's never once wthheld his blessings from me, and has been faithful to keep his word even when it seemed like I wandered over to him without knowing what I was doing, is calling me to come to him. Radley, am I doing that uncertain, reluctant walk right?