“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”
—Jeremiah 29:11, NIV“

Is he housetrained?”

“I don’t know if he’s trained, how he became a stray or why he stinks so bad.“

Josh’s frown deepened as he chewed on his bagel. “What name did you decide on?”

“Mister Magoo.” This got a chuckle. 

“He looks like a Magoo.” Josh gave me a kiss and left, unconvinced this adoption was a good idea.

But I was thrilled to add to our pack. I work at an animal shelter and was smitten by a pug puppy that came in the week before. Today he’d be ours. I barely got his leash on before he bolted from the kennel and sprinted down the hall. 

“Wow, you’re sure rambunctious for just having surgery.” 

“Pant-pant-snort,” was his reply.

“Okay,” I planned aloud, “let’s get home, meet everyone and then you’ll relax.” The stench of stray dog filled my car. 

Introductions went well. When our three older dogs realized they couldn’t keep up with Magoo’s frantic exploration of the backyard, they retreated inside. It was dinnertime and, as interesting as the new stinky guy was, they had their priorities.

Magoo raced into the house, jumped on and off the couch, dashed out to the yard and back inside to repeat the course. During one intermission, he recklessly flipped the toy basket and in under two minutes had strewn a couple dozen plushies, tug toys and squeakies about. His pug panting echoed off the walls.

“He’s a whirling dervish,” I muttered.

“Is he going to have a stroke?” Josh asked.

I shared his concern. The senior dogs we usually adopt stroll into the house, select one of the assorted comfy dog beds, circle once and lie down with a satisfied groan. They look at us with big, thankful eyes that say, “Wake me when it’s mealtime,” and life moves on.

I sat on the floor, hoping Magoo would rest. Nope. By midnight, Josh and I were exhausted. The other dogs had long since retired, giving us a “good luck” expression as they departed. 

I returned Magoo the next day, then cried all the way home. With only a couple hours’ sleep, I wondered, am I overtired? Relieved? Or truly disappointed it didn’t work?

Then I considered that maybe—just maybe—Magoo needed a safe place for only one more night so his forever family would find him. What if our house was that place? 

When we pray for God to do His will and open our hearts to whatever He’s designed for us, we shouldn’t be disappointed in the outcome. We can be sad it didn’t work out like we wanted, but we can also delight in being part of God’s plan. 

Though my heart was broken, I believe it worked out as it was supposed to—and for that, I’m joyful.   

P.S. Magoo was adopted within a half hour of his return to the shelter!

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