David intoned this lamentation over Saul and his son Jonathan: “How the mighty have fallen! You mountains of Gilboa, let there be no dew or rain upon you, nor bounteous fields! For there the shield of the mighty was defiled, anointed with oil no more.” – 2 Samuel 1:17-21, abridged (NRSV)
For a while now I’ve been thinking about getting a dog. Preferably a big, fluffy, slobbery dog. I grew up in the company of pets—dogs, cats, the occasional bird—and it would be nice to form such a bond again.
But I’ve been hesitant, not quite ready to commit to pet adoption.
When people ask why I don’t have a dog, I use poop as an excuse. Big dogs have big poop, and I live in the suburbs where picking up after one’s dog is an important part of being neighborly. There is zero appeal to the task of handling dog poop through a plastic baggy.
If I’m honest, however, for me there’s a bigger stumbling block than poop:
Grief.
To adopt a dog, to care for a dog, to share life and time with a dog, to love a dog, is to accept in advance that your love will know grief when that dog dies. It’s to accept in advance that fields and sidewalks and parks will break your heart with their fond reminder of dog walks. It’s to accept in advance that you will resent, sometimes, the mountain’s joy in receiving the rain and the sunflower’s delight in waking up to fresh dew—because how can the earth be so audacious in its pleasures at a time when your heart is grieving? How can the stars shine and the ocean sway while love aches?
I can easily embrace the idea of loving a pet. I’m hesitant to accept the certainty of grieving a pet. How much more did David grieve the deaths of Saul and Jonathan?
And how much love do I miss out on when I try to shield myself from heartache?
Prayer: Would that love was gentle and painless, O God! Nevertheless, break my heart wide open.
cross-posted with the Daily Devotional