10th Grade Essay: Divine Intervention

(retrospection)

This essay is a result of 10th grade English assignment. We had to write about an incident in our lives in which we could see God at work.

These types of essays are popular in the Christian school systems, and this was one of many such writing assignments I did over the years. I didn't really question it at the time, but looking back I wonder if it's really fair to assign this kind of thing to a class of 15 year olds. Looking back on my quiet sheltered suburban childhood there were no moments of crisis in which the hand of God was particularly visible in my life, or for that matter needed to be.

On the other hand, when you're a child you're a lot more open to the idea of divine intervention. Children often read divine intervention into every happy coincidence that works in their favor. And in the church this way of thinking is often tacitly encouraged by adults. I used to think God's hand was at work everytime my sports team won, or when we made it back in time from a family outing to catch my evening TV shows. (I wish I was kidding).

At any rate, that was the assignment and this is the best I could come up with at the time. It's dated March 10, 1994, but describes events that happened two years earlier.

10th Grade English, March 10, 1994, The Devil and the Dog

Two years before I was born, my parents bought a dog they named Brandy Alexander Swagman. I grew up always expecting this dog to be there, not thinkng he might die sometime in the near future. He wasn't a dog who let himself be picked up and he didn't run to greet me when I came home from school. He didn't chase me around the yard or let me chase him. He never fetched sticks and only tolerated people petting him. In short, he was just there. I was so used to him always being around that when old age took its toll, and we had no choice but to put him to sleep, I was crushed. Not really because I loved him, just because I missed him.

My parents promised we would get a new dog. Nobody wanted to go out and get another dog as soon as Brandy was dead, but about a year later we felt it was time. I was very enthusiastic about this, having had an avid interest in wolves and the dog family in general. Brandy ahd been a lap dog, but I had in mind getting a big dog, one I could play with. After some debate, my parents made it clear to me that this was not an option. During spring break of the year I was in eigth grade, we decided to see what getting a dog involved. After getting some advice from our veterinarian, we decided to start by looking at the Humane Society. Since I was gung ho about getting a puppy, I was not pleased with this starting point knowing that most of the dogs in the Humane Society are over one year old. My sister, however, was quite into saving the poor animals that would be killed, the poor dogs that needed a home, all that stuff. She didn't care about age; in fact one of the dogs she had her eye on was six. Needless to say, this caused some rather intense sibling rivalry.

We went to the Humane Society on Monday of that week, my mom making it very clear to us four kids that we were here to look only and would not be getting a dog. We all knew, however, that what she really meant was that we were getting a dog--unless we didn't find any we liked.

When we came to the dog's cages, I didn't bother paying attention to the big dogs or those that would grow big, other than pointing them out to my mom to bug her. The first cage we stopped at was for a male dog named Hagar. The dog was just what my mom was looking for. It was quiet, it didn't run around, it just sat there and looked at us. "Now this looks like a good choice," said my mom.

"Oh, he's so cute," agreed my sister. "I like this one."

"This looks like the best one so far," my mother decided.

"But Mom," I complained, "he doesn't do anything. He just sits there."

"Oh sure he does. Look, he's wagging his tail."

My mother and my sister discussed the virtues of this dog for a moment longer before we moved on. There were a lot of dogs I liked better than Hagar, pretty much all of them, but for one reason or another they were all eliminated. The pug shed. The little dog that jumped up and down wasn't good with children. The golden retriever was too big. The terrier was prone to fleas, the dalmation was too wild, and the mix near the end barked too much.

Finally, over my objection, we decided to get Hagar. We brought him out to walk in a fenced-off area, designed I suppose, so we could get to know this dog. I tried to get him to run, but he refused.

The dog was to remain there for a couple of days, while they checked him for disease. As we were driving home, I made it clear I did not like this dog. This worried my mother because I had agreed to take care of the dog if we got one. During the next two days she must have asked me at least five times what my reasons were, and my answer was always the same: "He just doesn't do anything."

Fortunately, God was on my side. It turned out Hagar had heart worms. He might die at any time. On Friday of that same week, we decided to go to a kennel we had heard good reports of, and check out what was there.

We talked to one of the workers there, telling her what kind of dog we wanted. "I want a dog that is very active, that runs around a lot, and one you can play with," I said.

"I want a calm dog," my mother said.

The lady thought for a moment, then announced, "I think I have one you might be interested in." She brought out a white puppy, who, as soon as he saw us, started running from one person to the other, his tail wagging faster than the eye could follow.

My siblings all clustered around the dog petting him and I looked uneasily at the lady who was obviously worried the dog would be smothered. My younger brother, seeing that I wasn't helping to smother the dog, scolded, "Gee, Joel, you're the one who wanted to get a dog. Why aren't you petting him?" I didn't like being told what to do by my younger brother, and would have given his shoulder a hard squeeze had everybody not been watching.

The dob however, didn't mind all this attention at all. He simply laid down so there would be more of him to pet. This pleased my mother.

We ended up getting that dog. He is the best dog we could ever have, and I would never trade him for a big dog. I shudder to think what would have happened if we had gotten Hagar. I am very thankful to God, who I'm convinced led us to this puppy.

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