Anxiety vs Peace: A Dog's Perspective

“If Paul can be thankful while he is in prison facing death, then there
is no excuse for you and me. I don’t care what circumstance you are in, there
is something you can be thankful for. But you’ve got to make the choice. 

Your capacity for joy increases as your gratitude grows. When you
have an attitude of gratitude, that is when peace and joy start to fill our
hearts and minds.  But when you don’t, suddenly joy drains from your life. Thanksgiving is the key… Negative emotions like fear, worry and anger cannot coexist with gratitude.” – Tony Walliser

Read Philippians 4:6-9

I was doing what I do best this morning—keeping a close watch on the
yard, the wind, and that suspicious squirrel who clearly has no respect for
property lines—when I noticed something unusual about my human.

He was sitting still.

Now, usually when my human sits still, it means one of two things: 

Snacks are coming… or a nap is coming. 

I’m a fan of both. 

But this time was different. 

His brow was tight, his foot was tapping and his knee was bouncing,
and he kept sighing like a tired old hound after a long chase.

I tilted my head. That usually helps me understand things.

He picked up that Book—the one he reads when life feels too big—and I
heard him say softly, “Do not be anxious about anything…”

That caught my attention.  Anything?

Now, I may not know much about bills, schedules, or whatever a “deadline”
is, but I do know a thing or two about anxiety. 

Like when thunder rolls in without asking permission… or when the
vacuum cleaner suddenly comes alive. 

That thing is not right.

But my human kept reading from Philippians 4:6–9,
talking about prayer, thanksgiving, and peace. 

Real peace. 

The kind that doesn’t make sense, but somehow settles over you like a
warm patch of sunlight on the floor.

I watched as his shoulders dropped a little. 

His breathing slowed. 

He started talking to God—honest-like. 

Not fancy. 

Just real.

And I thought… that’s interesting.

Because when I’m worried—like truly worried—I don’t stay that way
long. 

I go to my human. 

I sit close. 

Sometimes I lean all my weight against his leg (he says I’m “too
big for that,” but I think he secretly likes it). 

Somehow, just being near him makes things better.

Maybe that’s what Paul was getting at.

Maybe peace isn’t about figuring everything out. 

Maybe it’s about knowing who to sit with when you can’t.

My human kept reading—about thinking on things
that are true, honorable, just, pure. 

I don’t know all those words, but I do know this: 

When I fix my eyes on my human, I feel safe. 

When he speaks kindly, I relax. 

When he’s near, I rest.

And today, I saw him do the same thing—with God.

Less pacing. 

More praying.

Less worrying. 

More remembering.

And wouldn’t you know it… peace showed up.

Not all at once. 

Not like a loud bark. 

More like a quiet tail wag of the soul.

So here’s what I’ve learned, lying here at his feet:

Anxiety makes a lot of noise. Peace doesn’t have to.

Anxiety runs in circles.Peace sits still.

And peace—real peace—comes when you bring everything to the One who
already knows… and cares anyway.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll practice what I’ve learned.

I’m going to sit close. 

Stay near. 

And trust my human like he trusts God.

Seems like a pretty good plan.

Amen