THE GUARDIAN’S CHOICE | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: THE GUARDIAN’S CHOICE | Previous Challenge Entry
By Tammy Ortung
04/20/20
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It is a brisk winter day in February. I peer out the window and watch employees load our twenty-pound baby boy into the belly of the airplane. His whines drift up to the cabin. At seven weeks, our Newfoundland, Bronx, is too young to tranquilize, so the vet recommended Benadryl. Before dropping him off at the cargo terminal, I tried coaxing him into suckling medicine from the plastic applicator, but he fought against drinking the rancid liquid and is wide awake. It’s a long trip, made even longer by a cold layover in Chicago. I worry. Will he be warm enough? Is he afraid of the dark?

After landing in Seattle, my husband, Tim, and I rush through the terminal and down the escalator toward baggage claim to pick up our little bundle of joy. As we draw near, we hear tortured cries echoing through the corridor. Is that Bronx? What’s happening?

After waiting far too long, the swinging doors finally open and Bronx’s extra-large kennel is wheeled out. I immediately bend down and barely get the door unlatched before our impatient pup leaps into my arms. I chuckle as I plop onto the dirty floor, cuddling my squirmy fluff ball while he licks my face and wags his tail effusively. People smile and “ooh and ahh” at this display. How can they not? Nothing beats the beautiful face of our chocolate, blue-eyed Newfie. On the drive home, Bronx falls asleep nestled in the comfort of my loving arms, seeming to know I will protect him. It warms my heart—as much as I imagine it pleases God when we trust in Him.

Years later Bronx gallops ahead as we’re hiking through the woods. We are surrounded by beautiful evergreens. It feels like we’ve been teleported to dense forest miles away from civilization rather than a park five minutes from home. Birds chirp, distinctive and melodious, and squirrels chatter as they scurry up and over tree limbs. The sweet aroma of leaves and dirt permeate the fresh, damp air. My serenity is disturbed only by the swarming bugs.

As I swat the buzzing around my head for the fiftieth time, a hornet catches between my fingers and shows its displeasure by stinging me. I’m caught so off guard; I scream like a girl. Bronx comes charging back to see if I’m okay—my little guardian. I feel a warm fuzzy at this rare demonstration of concern. You see, Bronx has a mind of his own. He’s the most stubborn dog I’ve ever met. Sometimes it’s clear he loves me and other times, it’s like he could care less I exist.

That’s how it is with God, only we’re the ones who sometimes choose to show Him we love and trust Him, and other times we act like He doesn’t exist. But who’s the first person we run to when we’re in trouble? Even pre-believers are known to ask for prayer when they’re going through difficult times. Fortunately, we have a protector who’s always there waiting for us to recognize our need for Him. Yet He gave us free will. We can choose to acknowledge that Jesus exists, is the Son of God, and came to earth to rescue us from an eternity in hell—or not. It’s our choice.

Nonfiction

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