Who Made Dogs?

Rain came to the desert this week in torrential downpours -steel grey skies, flooded washes, and delicious smelling Creosote. You can smell rain coming in the desert for miles away from the distinctive smell of that wet Creosote – one of my (oddly) favorite things about the desert. Rain, however, in a place that sees so little of it, does make driving a bit more challenging. I made the normal two-hour drive to Tucson yesterday in three, rain pounding down the whole stretch of interstate, and while the streets in parts of that Southern Arizona town were completely flooded, the mountains surrounding the city were capped by snow and fog – absolutely magnificent.

Last night, I was accompanied by both Jug and my younger nephew, Z, who rode together in the backseat as we made our way from my parents’ home to my brother’s. As I was concentrating on the my own driving and that of the other’s around me for the fifteen-minute car ride, Z kept up a steady stream of conversation from behind me. I never know what is going to come out of that child’s mouth; so, time alone with him is always a delightful adventure. Last evening, his mind was focused on other-worldly things.

I have no idea why Z’s little mind chose to focus on this particular subject – didn’t want to interrupt to ask – but he decided to tell me the Creation Story. Yep, I was treated to the telling of God’s creation of Adam and Eve, the Garden of Eden, the Serpent and temptation, God’s anger with Adam, Cain and Abel (though he couldn’t quite remember their names), reminded that we all came from Adam and Eve, and that God had truly made all of us. When Z was finished, he fell momentarily silent, pleased that he had enlightened me. He couldn’t see me in the darkness of the car, in the deep darkness of the storm raging outside, but my smile (and soul) were beaming. For the most part, he’d gotten the story right;  I had murmured the slight corrections he’d required. My heart loved that he was even thinking about God, that he wanted to share Him with me.

After a moment of silence, when he was satisfied that I had the story down, he says, “Auntie Rachael, who made dogs?”

In case you think this an incredible leap from the previous conversation, I glanced in the rearview mirror, and Jug had settled his enormous head on Z’s little lap where Jug was rewarded with a serious session of ear rubbing. Z’s little face was staring thoughtfully down at Jug.

“Well, Little Dude, you just told me that God made all of us. Do you think maybe He made dogs, too?”

The look on Z’s face in the rearview was priceless. The spark in those gold eyes as things clicked into place is one I wish I could carry with me everywhere. “Oh, yeah! He made everything!” Z’s excitement of discovery of something that I “know” is a passion I lost long ago.

I want that passion back, and hearing it in Z’s voice, seeing it in his face, opened a little space of longing in my adult-weary jadedness. I think that space is a precious gift from the Creator about whom Z had just been reminding me. I think that space was a resplendent welcoming to draw closer, to fall deeper into relationship and not an offering to be casually ignored.

I love my little gold-eyed Z for, oh, so many reasons. Tops on the list today is that he reminded me that my love for the Creator should be as passionate as His love for me.