"Dear, Lord..."

We got the most lovely dog for our daughter for Christmas.  An English Chocolate Lab Puppy, nine weeks old.  Positively adorable.
My husband picked her up on Christmas Eve afternoon and when my daughter and I arrived home that evening, he had her in a Christmas paper wrapped box, sitting with her head just popping out.
The pure joy on our daughters face was nothing short of awe, wonder, surprise and delight.
It was all that I had wanted for this Christmas, all that I wanted her to experience.
We named her Annabelle, put a pink walking collar on her and went to bed satisfied with our parenting.
Have you caught a breath in the back of your throat?  Or are you grinning from ear to ear?  Good, so were we.
Four days later, first on a walk and then again in the living room, Annabelle pulled back on her haunches, growled and then lunged at our daughter.  Her intent appeared very aggressive, her energy given to this matter not ceasing.  She got a decent chunk out of our daughters leg on the walk and managed to use her arm as a clawing post in the living room.  All this effort included bearing her pearly white teeth and trying to get to our daughter's face.
By Sunday this behavior had doubled in aggression, we put up a baby gate in the hall way to keep our daughter out of harms way and I landed on the couch in a puddle of tears, heart broken but heavily convicted on the matter of being a mom before a dog owner.  I told my husband I was scared of what could take place and that living in anxiety of, not if, when the dog would accomplish getting to our daughters face, that she had to go.
To my surprise, he was relieved and grateful for this conversation.  He met me in my concern and affirmed my desires to let the dog go.  He shared that he didn't know how to begin that conversation with me because, and he was right, I had wanted this dog so badly for the last five years.

So, there you go.  We were a dog family for one week.  We loved her with all our hearts.  And we loved to see her go.

"Dear, Lord..." were words that were said three times as many as the week prior.  The conversations went something like this:
"Dear, Lord, Can you calm this dog?  I mean, wait, do you even care about dogs?"
"Dear, Lord, I want this dog bit to work; could you please send a spirit of calm to this dog when it's around our daughter?  I mean, oh, Lord, these are the cheesiest prayers I've ever prayed to you."
"Dear, Lord, What the hell were we thinking?"
and,
"Wow, Lord, are we as stubborn, curious, slow to learn and adorable to you as this creature is to me?  I mean, really, as complex and dynamic as you made us, made me, do I cause you to feel every emotion, every day?  We must, I must make you feel so many things every day.  In that case, may I have eyes to see and courage to have obedience that I don't currently have, though you've been quite clear in the teaching of it."

I'd have to say this, while the right parent thing to do was return the dog to the breeder, the intentional affirmation in all of this went to Sally.  We doubled our efforts to share that she is our first priority, that her safety will not be compromised by us, so long as we can ever help it. We shared that her moments of beautiful surprise and joy are to be captured in her heart forever and changing ones mind is alright, too. 

What a way to start the year!