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Cinnamon wasn’t a Pit-bull. She wasn’t a Rottweiler. Or even a Doberman. She was a Chihuahua. Just an eight pound, smooth coated, yappy mouthed, you guessed it – Cinnamon-brown colored bundle of boldness.
You see, no one told her she was only 8 pounds. She definitely missed the memo about being the smallest dog in the kingdom. She was oblivious to the fact that an average sized raccoon would tower over her.
Instead, she charged the vacuum cleaner with such veracity you would have thought she was rabid, literally biting on the rubber edge of the machine at every pass. Her high pitched “yip” of a bark could not be heard over the low, angry, growl of the sweeper, but that didn’t stop her from screaming and snapping at it in a determined, enraged manner.
At the park, she would strain feverishly on her leash to get to the Bull-Mastiffs and Boxers. There large chests, massive paws, and enlarged heads did not intimidate her in the least. She approached these canine giants hastily, unaware of the glint in their eyes as they considered her a tasty hors d’oeuvres before the main course. A strong hand and a sturdy leash were the only things that kept her from being on the menu.
She was quite ambitious at the beach as well. Her tiny legs would send her into a beeline sprint down the shoreline - completely unaware of the approaching wave until it fell over and around her, tossing her like buoy until she’d land upright back on the shore, covered in sea kelp and sand. Astonishingly, she’d simply shake out her coat and stagger ahead, unfettered.
Once, in an open field, she ran ahead down a dusty path with the wild abandon of a teenage boy. Above her circled a hawk, soaring peacefully. The giant bird’s keen eyes soon picked Cinnamon out as an afternoon snack and it began to circle back and position itself above her. Cinnamon, oblivious, ran about the trail, sniffing and snuffling from rock to bush, with the confidence of an experienced hiker. A swift grab and a tuck under my arm was what saved her from the talons and beak of a hungry bird.
I often wonder, where does Cinnamon’s boldness come from? Today, we build the self-confidence of our children, bolster their self-esteem, and help them to believe in themselves by praising, challenging, and encouraging them. We don’t do this for our dogs. Cinnamon wasn’t raised being told “Shoot for the stars!” or “Believe in yourself, girl!” She was raised being told, “Get down off the table!” “Leave the cat alone!” “Bad dog! You’re supposed to do that outside!” Yet her confidence is clearly high; she is certainly able to boldly go where no dog has gone before.
Strangely enough, there is a message in Cinnamon’s confidence that I find inspiring. In Ephesians 3:12 we are reminded that because of Jesus, we can approach God with boldness. If we can approach God the Father with confidence, should there be anything or anyone we should be afraid of? Hardly! We are worried about molehills, when we should have faith that can move mountains! Not to mention, we have a very important message to deliver to the world – a message of Jesus’ life-saving love, and it is one that needs to be delivered boldly and confidently. The hawks may circle and we may get tossed and turned a time or two, but the message is important enough that we must continue on in Christ-inspired confidence – even if there is a Hoover in the way.
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