DECEMBER 2009 - James Taylor is in the CD player. The Christmas tree is shining with every one of Mimi's angels in place. The nutcrackers are at attention. I'm one gift certificate short of being done with my Christmas shopping. And, my baby girl is going to get her heart's desire for Christmas. The gift is a 7-week-old female chihuahua we rescued from a shelter in Fort Payne, home to Randy Owen and the boys.
We've got her hidden at the neighbor's house until Christmas morning in a ridiculously tangled web of lies and deceit. I was walking Copper, our faithful yellow lab, this morning and laughed out loud out of sheer joy in anticipation of my girl opening a box on Christmas morning to find a real-live dog--not just any dog, but the dog she picked out on PetFinder.com.
You have to know my baby girl to understand the magnitude of this. My girl made a small fortune this year looking after other people's small canines while they went on vacation. She has a dog calendar, dog pictures on her wall, a dog breed book that she takes everywhere she goes and Animal Planet is her favorite channel.
The girl told us she was saving her money to buy a dog for herself, if her parents didn't get one for her, and now, on Christmas morning, she's getting a puppy of her very own. She's black and tan, with a tan spot above each eye and tan feet. Her little tail curls up over her back,and one of her too-long ears flops over at the end.
The shelter named her Eliza. I hear my baby girl is leaning toward KiKi. Personally, I'm hoping for something like Taco, Poco or Amiga, but the wife keeps reminding me that my daughter has naming rights. She's right, of course. It's my girl's dog.
What I've realized this week, keeping this dog secret, is how God must feel about us. I've learned more about how my Heavenly Father must feel about me in the way I feel about my kids. I can only imagine how He stands back with a huge grin on His face, knowing what He has in store for me...things to which I'm completely oblivious. Just like my daughter, I walk around hoping for my heart's desire, practically sure it's not going to happen, and plotting to get it for myself. All the while, God is laughing. Laughing at my lame attempts to make something happen that He's already taken care of. How happy it must make Him to have things in store for me.
The prophet Jeremiah said it: God knows the plans He has for me, plans to prosper. I imagine God laughing out loud, just like me, in anticipation of what He has planned for me. I forget that He knows my heart's desire, and that He knows waiting is better than just handing it over. God has also used this little gift to remind me what we all sometimes forget: the joy really is in the giving. I absolutely can't wait until Christmas morning. Not for me, but for my girl. As my boy, the wife, the neighbors and everybody else who knows about Kiki or Taco or whatever her name is, my girl is gonna cry. She'll be the happiest little girl in the world, but she won't be the happiest person in the world. The wife says it'll be her. I'm not so sure. Come Christmas morning, I'm pretty sure it's gonna be me.
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