Frenchie, our Bichon Frise puppy, is not yet five months old. At our last visit to the vet, he weighed 6.8 pounds. He stands no more than 11 inches from the ground at his shoulders.
Frenchie is skittish about falling leaves. And cardboard boxes. Watering cans. And sudden noises.
The other day I took him for his evening walk. Coming toward us was a large greyhound accompanied by his mistress. As we got closer to each other, the greyhound barked and strained at his leash to cross the street and get to us.
Frantically, Frenchie tried to scoot away, but I had him tethered to his own leash. So, as the greyhound continued barking, I bent down, gathered Frenchie in my arms and carried him until we were half a block beyond the greyhound. As I put him down to continue his walk, I said to him, “Don’t worry, Frenchie. I love protecting you.”
And immediately, before the last syllable left my lips, I heard the Holy Spirit say to me: “And Richard, I love protecting you.”
I hope to never forget what He said to me. I hope to never forget His promise: “Like a shepherd He will tend His flock, in His arm He will gather the lambs and carry them in His bosom; He will gently lead the nursing ewes." (Isaiah 40:11)
Oh, how often I need to be carried. How often I need His protection.
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