Why We Growl at Each Other

When we first brought home our puppy, Reggie, we knew our anxious and under-socialized new family member would have to run the gauntlet of meeting the grandkids. When the day came, she handled herself with surprising poise—until the full frontal assault from four 1-6-year-olds exceeded her social limit.

And she growled.

Just a little. No more than I would. But still, it had us questioning everything. Would the grandkids be safe with her? Would she learn to be comfortable with them? Would she have to go?

Thankfully, that was a one-and-done. Our puppy has become a remarkably well-adjusted member of our family who tolerates everything from squeezing to tail-pulling to ear-tugging to having her jaws pried open for the administration of medicine (or the extraction of dead mice). Never once have I been worried about her snapping at me or anyone else. But not every dog is like that. And actually, most people aren't either.

Fun fact: Dogs who grow up competing with other dogs for their right to eat or play may become prone to something called "resource guarding," a jealous protectiveness that can turn aggressive if you threaten to remove what is precious to them. As an aside for my new puppy owners out there, that's why it's a good idea to get your dog used to being touched during meals, or to add to their bowl while they eat so they won't see your reaching hand as a threat to their dinner. Just a tip.

As for people, our resource guarding is just as problematic. And it usually happens when we lack faith in God's Father-heart, or His loving desire to give us good things.

Let me give you an example.

In Genesis 21, Sarah finally gives birth to her long-promised son, Isaac, at a whopping ninety years old. She's waited decades for this child. Sometimes patiently, sometimes not so much. Once, the thought of becoming a mother at her age prompted her to laugh out loud, which is probably why she celebrates Isaac's birth with the words: "God has made laughter for me; everyone who hears will laugh over me."

Lovely, right? I can just see her smiling down at her wrinkly new son, rejoicing in God's sense of humour.

Which is why it struck me as strange when, a few lines down, at Isaac's weaning party, she sees the son of Abraham's concubine laughing—and immediately demands that Ishmael and his mother be thrown out into the wilderness. For context, about fourteen years prior, Sarah had grown impatient that her promised son hadn't arrived, so she gave her maidservant to Abraham to mother a son in Sarah's place. I know it's a little dissonant for our modern minds, but the point is this: Sarah didn't trust God to keep His promise, so she took matters into her own hands. Ishmael was the result.

You'd think having her own child would cure her of that doubt. I mean, there Isaac was, in the baby-soft flesh. Promise fulfilled, right?

But doubt is rarely so rational. And at ninety years old, Sarah had spent a long time doubting God's faithfulness and willingness to give her the good thing her heart desired. So even now, quite literally snuggling God's answer to her prayer, she sees Ishmael and a growl rises in her throat.

Much as I shudder to admit it, I'm as guilty of this "resource guarding" as anyone else. I spent a great deal of my life sure that God was just and good, but also convinced that He couldn't be expected to have anything good for me personally. To my mind, I think, it was a twisted attempt at humility. But in reality, it was a lack of faith in the very heart of God—a God who is, at His core, an eternal outpourer of life and love. In that mindset, any blessing felt like a squeaky toy to protect, something another, worthier person could come along and snatch at any moment. If I were God, I would give this chance to someone else, so why shouldn't I feel threatened? How can I trust that this is for me? That God could want to give this to me?

Realizing that this was not, in fact, humility, but a rather self-absorbed and fundamentally sinful lack of faith, made all the difference. Like Sarah, I had to realize that my God is big enough to keep promises to all His children, and to set aside lovingly curated "goods" for all of us. Contrary to what our broken, twisted, oftentimes trauma-bruised hearts may feel, we are not competing with anyone for God's goodness. As His children, our access to Him is limitless. We don't have to elbow our way to the throne of grace. Our God delights in showering us with His abundance, not so that we would be territorial about the grace we're given, but so that we would stop thinking so much about ourselves, start delighting in Him, and get busy telling others about the grace He has for them.

I could be wrong, but I don't think Reggie spends much time contemplating threats to her happiness. She doesn't worry that my mom might love us more than her, or pout when I eat a meal she isn't invited to. She knows she'll be provided for. She asks for it in full expectation, and then she simply enjoys it. In the same way, we can live each day in the joyful expectation of kindness from our Father. A kindness that is personal, relational, and fundamentally centred not on our insecurities, but on our absolute security in Christ.

This week or month or year, let's stop growling and start adoring the hand that fills our cups daily with good things.