I know my human is thinking about the new year again.
I can tell because the paper on his desk has lines on it and he stares out the window like he’s trying to remember where he put something important.
He sighs sometimes.
That’s usually a clue.
When humans sigh, they’re sniffing around into yesterday.
I’m a dog.
Yesterday is a smell that fades.
Today is the sound of the door opening.
This morning he read something out loud. I was at his feet—prime listening position. He said:
“Not that I have already obtained all this, or have already arrived at my goal, but I press on to take hold of that for which Christ Jesus took hold of me. Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead, I press on toward the goal to win the prize for which God has called me heavenward in Christ Jesus.”
- Philippians 3:12–14 NIV
I thumped my tail. That sounded like something I understand.
My human keeps lists of what can be improved upon from this past year.
I don’t.
If I did, I’d never chase a tennis ball again after missing it the first time.
I’d just lie down in the yard and feel sorry for myself.
But that’s not how dogs are made.
We run again.
Paul sounds like he knows that.
He admits he’s not there yet.
That’s important.
Humans think faith means “arrived.”
Dogs know better.
Faith looks more like leaning forward, ears up, waiting for the next cue.
I’ve noticed something else.
When my human walks, if he keeps looking behind him, he trips over me.
When he looks ahead, I stay close.
That’s how this verse feels.
Forgetting what’s behind doesn’t mean it didn’t matter—it just means it’s not steering anymore.
Jesus already took hold of him.
I heard Paul say that.
That’s the part my human forgets.
He thinks the new year is about grabbing hold of God harder, doing better, running faster.
But doesn’t Paul say Jesus held him first?
I know what that’s like.
When I was a pup, I once ran straight toward the road.
Tires.
Noise.
Fear.
Then hands—strong ones—lifting me back to safety.
I didn’t earn that rescue.
I didn’t even see it coming.
I just know I was held.
After that, I stayed closer.
That’s pressing on.
As the new year gets closer, my human keeps making plans and setting goals.
I just keep watching the door.
When it opens, I’ll go.
When he calls, I’ll run.
Not perfectly.
Sometimes sideways.
Sometimes muddy.
Always forward.
That’s the goal, I think.
Not perfection.
Direction.
So if I could tell my human anything as he prepares for the year ahead, it would be these thoughts:
Don’t look back… stop staring at the floor behind you.
Jesus is already holding you.
Lean into the next step… and the next one.
Press on…. toward the goal of the upward call.
I’ll be right here…
Ready when you are.
Tail wagging.
Eyes on you.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
