A Shadow of Papa's Heart

I dumped my previous post https://www.findingourway.co/post/animals-and-a-restored-creation about Athena into chatgpt and asked for a short story. This is what I got, not really what I was asking for but I think it is pretty good, overall.

Some companions come into your life with a purpose you don't recognize until they're gone.

Athena was one of those companions.

She came to me as a clumsy English Mastiff puppy, all oversized paws and wrinkles, with more curiosity than coordination. Before long she grew into one hundred and twenty pounds of muscle and gentleness. She could put her front paws on my shoulders and look me straight in the eyes, though most of the time all she wanted was a scratch behind the ears, a treat from the grandkids, or simply to be wherever I happened to be.

If I walked outside, there she was.

If I sat on the porch, she'd settle beside me.

If I worked in the yard, she'd quietly stand close enough that I'd nearly trip over her.

She wasn't protecting the property as much as she was protecting the relationship. Home, to Athena, wasn't the house. Home was wherever we were together.

Yet for all her size, thunderstorms turned this mighty Mastiff into a frightened puppy.

The first crack of thunder would send her running to the back door, throwing her massive body against the glass, begging to come inside. Lightning flashed, the windows rattled, and she wanted only one thing: to be near someone she trusted. Sometimes I'd put her in the kennel in the shed where the walls and the sweet smell of hay seemed to calm her until the storm passed.

• 

Over the years I began to realize she wasn't afraid of the storm itself. She was afraid of facing it alone.

Maybe that's true of most of us.

Life has a way of bringing storms we never saw coming. Illness. Loss. Questions. Heartbreak. We don't always need someone to make the storm disappear. Sometimes we simply need a presence that reminds us we aren't facing it by ourselves.

Athena taught me that.

She also reminded me of the Lord in ways I never expected.

She never kept score. She never withheld affection because I'd been too busy the day before. She never greeted me with disappointment. Every time she saw me, her whole world seemed to light up as though she'd been waiting all day for that moment.

It made me wonder if that's a tiny reflection of the heart of our Father.

Not because God is like a dog.

But because unconditional affection is one of those rare gifts that quietly points beyond itself.

Athena never preached a sermon.

She never quoted a verse.

She simply loved.

Looking back, I think that's why I miss her so much.

She wasn't just my dog.

She was one of God's gentle reminders that love delights in being present.

And when I remember her standing faithfully beside me, I cannot help but smile and think that perhaps, all those years, she was teaching me something about Papa's heart.