About two years ago, my husband and boys and I drove just over an hour to a small farm to pick up our new puppy–Roxie, a Great Dane. We didn’t set out to get Roxie. I had no desire for a female dog. But as we sat amidst the wriggling, snuffling, tumbling, group of pups, she crawled into my husband’s lap, laid down, and promptly fell asleep. To us, it seemed that she was saying, “These will be my people.”

And so we were. And so we are. But life with Roxie isn’t at all what we envisioned. We’re no strangers to giant dog breeds, so we thought we had it covered. But then Roxie came and showed me that I don’t know anything. Roxie is playful, and cuddly. She’s smart and goofy. But she’s also willful and impulsive, as well as reactive and defensive. We’ve done a lot of work with Roxie over the past couple of years, from socialization to group training and even some individual training to work on issues of resource guarding. And still, it can be a struggle. Most recently, she became aggressive with our older dog, sending him to the vet two days in a row for sutures. And she bit another dog while we were out on a hike.

To say that I reached the end of my tether was an understatement. How could this dog, who spends 90 percent of her time cuddling with others on the couch, be so difficult? How were my husband and I, who had done everything we were supposed to do, be in this situation? Why do other people have such an easy time with their dogs? Why can’t I have the dog I envisioned when we set out on this journey together? Why can’t things be different?

All of us, at one point or another, end up in situations that are vastly different from what we envisioned. Sometimes, they’re better. A missed opportunity, a broken heart, a major disappointment paves the way for something greater, something we never could have envisioned on our own.

But other times, these unimagined situations leave us completely shattered, and we wonder: What do we do now? How do we pick up the pieces of our dreams and make new ones when we’re just so scared and tired and sore?

On a cool and overcast day in March, I walked with Roxie on a lonely ridge beside the Missouri River. The wind blustered about around us, scattering dead leaves and grasses while causing the naked trees to groan in protest and the river waters to roar. I was sad, and anxious. But there was Roxie, running gleefully into and out of the woods, tongue flopping through her muzzle as she jumped and chased imaginary squirrels. My difficult dog was full of joy, despite the cold and wind and clouds. And I thought about creation, and God’s hand in all of it, and I came to a startling conclusion: God cares for this dog because she is his created. And he finds joy in her, too.

I had thought it inappropriate to burden God with my anxiety and fear and disappointment around a dog…seriously…she’s a DOG. The world is a giant dumpster fire right now, so who cares? Turns out, God does. So, on that ridge, alone in the seemingly middle of nowhere, as the wind hurled itself against the terra firma, I poured it all out to God. And he told me it was okay.

But he also told me to get out of my head–to stop hiding and wallowing and having drawn-out tête-à-têtes with anxiety. My life feels like it’s been hijacked at the moment, but it hasn’t been… not really. It’s different from what I pictured, and there are unexpected challenges for sure, but that giant ball of fear-fueled chaos causing my heart to pound and my thoughts to scatter? That’s of my own making, and it only serves to draw me further away from the one who promises peace.

And so, I’m trying each day to lay it down. I’m trying to find the joy in my daily walks, even when I lose Roxie to a squirrel. I’m trying to not feel discouraged when she snaps at me for taking away a paper towel that she’s absconded with. I’m trying to accept that she is who she is and most of it is really great. And through it all, God is showing me rays of hope…gentle reminders that he does care about the big and small, that there is life beyond our present circumstances, and that he will help us navigate whatever comes.

Blessings and Peace,

Sara (and Roxie)