There’s a spot by the back door where I like to flop down in the evenings.
Cool wood.
Good breeze.
Full view of the kitchen.
A dog can learn a lot there if he keeps one ear perked up and his tail still.
The other night my human came in carrying grocery bags that didn’t look near as full as they used to.
He set them down, rubbed his forehead, and mumbled something about prices going up again.
I tilted my head.
I don’t know much about economics, but I do know when bacon gets rationed, times are serious.
Then later that week, I watched him ease himself into his chair after working all day.
His back hurt.
Knees popped louder than the firecrackers thrown at the Fourth of July picnic.
He looked tired.
Worn slap out.
And this morning?
Well, I laid under his feet while he read from Philippians 4:10-13.
My ears perked up when he said, “…for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.”
Now I always figured that verse meant you could bench press a tractor or run through a brick wall if you prayed hard enough.
But listening close, I realized Paul wasn’t talking about getting everything he wanted.
He was talking about trusting God whether he had plenty or barely enough.
That got this old dog thinking.
You see, I can be mighty entitled myself.
I expect breakfast at sunrise.
I expect folks to move from my favorite spot on the couch.
I expect my human to share popcorn even though he says, “This isn’t for dogs.” (He says that every time… and yet somehow I still get some.)
But when supper’s smaller, or the weather’s rough, or my old hips ache climbing the porch steps, I start grumbling in my own dog way.
A sigh here.
A dramatic flop there.
Maybe a guilty look that says, “Surely you’re gonna fix this for me.”
Truth is, humans do the same thing sometimes.
We expect life to stay comfortable.
We expect our bodies to cooperate.
We expect our bank accounts to stretch farther than they do.
And when they don’t, we panic like an old dog who just heard thunder.
But Paul said he learned contentment.
Learned it hungry.
Learned it tired.
Learned it with little and with much.
Because his strength didn’t come from circumstances—it came from Christ.
That means “I can” isn’t really about what I can do.
It’s about what Christ can do in me.
I can endure hard seasons.
I can trust God when money’s tight.
I can keep walking when my body hurts.
I can have peace when the world feels uncertain.
Not because I’m strong…
But because He is.
Keep the Faith… Carpe Diem
