Dear Reader,
Before we begin, I should probably confess that today’s reflection started in a way that would make St. Thomas Aquinas roll his eyes.
It did not begin with a profound theological insight.
It did not begin with a carefully studied passage of Scripture.
It did not begin during deep prayer.
It began because I was trying to use the restroom and my dog was grumbling on the other side of the door.
Now, if you’re a dog owner, you already know exactly what I’m talking about.
For reasons that have never been adequately explained by either science or theology, many dogs are deeply offended by closed bathroom doors.
My pal Figgy is no exception.
Apparently, if I disappear behind a door for three minutes without him, an existential crisis has occurred.
As I sat there listening to the increasingly dramatic sounds of canine disappointment, I found myself wondering why this little dog is so determined to be included in absolutely everything I do.
That question led me down a surprisingly theological rabbit hole.
And before the day was over, a slightly clingy Cavapoo had me thinking about prayer, relationships, and one of the biggest misconceptions many Christians carry about God.
So, before Figgy realizes I’ve been writing about him without obtaining the proper permissions, let’s get started.
You are Never Bothering God…
What I Learned About God from a Clingy Little Cavapoo
Let me tell you a story about my best pal, Figment.
Figgy is a 15-pound (If there are any veterinarians in this community, yes, I know he needs to lose a few) Cavapoo who came into my life three years ago. My best friend Katie named him after the Disney character, and it immediately stuck.
Figment also goes by Figgy, Figgy Pudding, Figgy Pumpkin, Lil’ Pumpkin, Pumpkin Patch, The Pun’kin, Pumpkin Spice Latte, and, on particularly formal occasions, Dominus Figmentus A. Vici.
Now, if you’ve never known a Cavapoo, I’m sure you’ve known a dog just like him.
They like to be a part of things…. A LOT.
If I’m cooking dinner, Figgy is involved.
If I’m answering emails, Figgy is involved.
If I’m carrying groceries into the house, Figgy suddenly becomes a logistics consultant.
If a package arrives at the front door, he considers himself part of the receiving department.
If I move from the living room to the kitchen, he follows as though I’ve announced a major expedition requiring immediate canine oversight.
If I get up to go to the restroom… you get the picture.
Privacy is not a value he particularly respects.
The thing is, he’s actually not very helpful.
He has never successfully answered an email.
His culinary expertise remains questionable.
And his contribution to household management consists largely of staring at me with deep concern until I drop something edible.
He simply wants to be where I am.
He wants to be part of my life.
Recently, while Figgy was closely monitoring my completely adequate performance of some ordinary household task, I found myself thinking about God.
Over the years, I’ve met countless people who hesitate to pray about the small things.
They don’t want to bother God.
They’ll pray when the diagnosis comes.
They’ll pray when the marriage is in trouble.
They’ll pray when they lose the job.
They’ll pray when they’re frightened, desperate, or out of options.
But the ordinary details of life?
The meeting they’re nervous about.
The vacation they’re planning.
The recipe they’re trying.
The thing that made them laugh on the drive home.
Surely God has more important things to worry about.
I’m blessed to serve this little online community, and throughout the week I receive prayer requests from readers.
I’ve noticed that many of them begin the same way.
“Father, I’m so sorry to bother you, but could you pray for…”
Bother me?
Are you kidding?
Praying for you is one of the reasons I said yes to this vocation in the first place.
I don’t wake up in the morning excited to look at budget spreadsheets, answer administrative emails, fight with technology, or wrestle with church paperwork.
I wake up grateful that I get to walk with people through their joys, sorrows, fears, hopes, and struggles.
I want to pray for you.
And whenever I read one of those messages, I find myself wondering:
If I feel that way, how much more does God?
If I, with all my limitations, am happy to stop what I’m doing and bring your needs before the Lord, how much more willing is the God who created you, sustains you, and loves you beyond anything I can comprehend?
And if you’re beginning your prayer request to me with “I’m sorry to bother you,” I suspect many people are beginning their prayers to God the same way.
The good news is that neither of us is bothered.
God is the Lord of Creation, but He is not like a boss at work with an overflowing inbox and too many demands on His schedule.
His attention is not finite.
His resources are not limited.
His time is not divided among competing priorities.
You are not standing in line behind eight billion other people hoping to receive a few moments of His attention.
God is fully present to every one of His children at the same time all of the time.
You never have to wonder whether you’re bothering Him.
In fact, the simple fact that you exist is evidence that God wants you.
He did not create you reluctantly.
He does not sustain you begrudgingly.
Every breath you take is a gift He continues to give.
Every heartbeat is a sign that He has not withdrawn His love from you.
Every minute you exist is a minute God has chosen to remain near.
One of the things I’ve noticed over years of pastoral ministry is that struggling couples rarely stop sharing the big things first.
Usually, they stop sharing the little things.
The funny thing that happened at work.
The article they read during lunch.
The random thought that crossed their mind.
The joke that made them laugh.
The thing they would have immediately shared years earlier.
They still discuss schedules.
They still discuss bills.
They still discuss problems.
But they stop sharing themselves.
Most of the couples I counsel never intended for that to happen.
In fact, many are working harder than ever.
They’re raising children.
Building careers.
Paying bills.
Caring for aging parents.
Managing schedules.
Doing all the work required to sustain a family.
But somewhere along the way, they begin treating intimacy as a luxury they cannot afford until life settles down.
The tragedy is that life rarely settles down.
Looking at intimacy as a luxury is often catastrophic for a marriage.
Because intimacy is not the reward for doing the work of the relationship.
Intimacy is what sustains the relationship while the work is being done.
I sometimes wonder if many of us make the same mistake with God.
We become consumed by the work of life.
We tell ourselves we’ll return to prayer when things calm down.
After the project is finished.
After the crisis passes.
After the kids are grown.
After one more meeting.
After one more emergency.
But relationships do not thrive on postponed intimacy.
St. Paul writes simply:
“Pray without ceasing.” (1 Thessalonians 5:17)
Not because God needs constant updates.
He already knows everything.
Prayer is not about keeping God informed.
Prayer is about keeping a relationship alive.
Centuries ago, a monk by the name of Brother Lawrence discovered this while working in a monastery kitchen. He wrote about how washing pots and pans could become prayer. Not because there was something mystical about dirty dishwater, but because God was present there too.
The point was never the pots and pans.
The point was companionship.
I know there are many clergy, religious, and ministry leaders who read this newsletter, so allow me a brief confession.
There is another temptation that sounds a little like Brother Lawrence on the surface, but is actually its opposite.
It is the temptation to say, “My work is my prayer.”
Our work can certainly be prayerful.
God is absolutely present in ministry.
Grace can be found in hospital rooms, parish offices, sermons, counseling sessions, committee meetings, and countless acts of service.
But ministry itself is not a substitute for prayer.
Those of us who do God’s work professionally occupy a uniquely vulnerable position.
We are surrounded by good and holy work.
Most of it reflects the very reasons we said yes to this vocation in the first place.
People need us.
There are homilies to prepare.
Emails to answer.
Parishioners to visit.
Problems to solve.
And there never seems to be enough hours in the day.
If you are clergy in a tradition that permits marriage, the danger is multiplied.
You can neglect your relationship with your spouse while doing the work of family.
And you can neglect your relationship with God while doing the work of ministry.
The cruel irony is that all four are good and holy things.
Your spouse.
Your family.
God.
Your ministry.
Yet all four compete for the same finite resource: your attention.
The work remains.
The obligations remain.
The responsibilities remain.
But when intimacy is repeatedly postponed, relationships begin to weaken.
Eventually, you find yourself exhausted and wondering where the joy went.
Over the years, whenever fellow clergy have confided that they are struggling spiritually, emotionally, or personally, I usually begin with the same question:
“How’s your prayer life?”
The answer is almost always the same.
The prayer life has grown thin.
For those of us serving out in the world, there is no monastery bell ringing six times a day calling us to chapel.
Nobody interrupts a meeting and announces that it is time to pray the Office.
Nobody forces us to pick up the breviary.
That responsibility belongs to us.
I wish I could tell you I’ve always gotten this right.
I haven’t.
There have been seasons when my own prayer life became dangerously neglected.
Seasons when ministry consumed so much attention that I convinced myself I was staying spiritually healthy because I was constantly doing religious things.
There have even been days when I had to look up online where the ribbons belonged in my breviary because it had been sitting untouched for far too long.
And I learned something during those seasons.
As my prayer life went, so went the rest of my life.
The discouragement came more easily.
The frustration lingered longer.
My patience shortened.
My perspective narrowed.
Recently I read an interview with Pope Leo XIV’s personal secretary.
It is rare to get a glimpse into the private habits of a pope, but he described something beautifully ordinary.
His Holiness prays the Office every day.
He prays the Rosary every day.
He offers Mass every day.
And I found myself smiling.
Because if the Bishop of Rome is not too busy to stop and pray, neither am I.
The goal was never simply to do God’s work.
The goal has always been to know God.
The work matters.
But the relationship comes first.
And if you need further proof that God desires relationship with us, look to Jesus.
The Cosmic Christ, the Word through whom all things were made, did not remain distant from us.
In the greatest act of love the world has ever known, God drew near.
He took on our humanity.
He walked our roads.
Shared our meals.
Attended weddings.
Wept at a friend’s grave.
Experienced betrayal.
Suffered.
Died.
Was buried.
And on the third day conquered death itself.
Why?
Because love always moves toward the beloved.
Because God desired not merely our obedience, but our communion.
Because He wanted nothing, not even death itself, to separate us from Him.
The entire story of salvation is the story of a God who keeps moving toward His people.
A God who desires friendship.
A God who desires relationship.
A God who desires to share life with us.
Jesus tells His disciples:
“I have called you friends.” (John 15:15)
I never get tired of that verse.
The Lord of the universe calls us friends.
It makes my heart skip.
Not servants merely carrying out instructions.
Friends.
People with whom He desires to share life.
And so, tonight… tell God something completely unnecessary.
Tell Him about the television show you enjoyed.
Tell Him about the restaurant you’re excited to try.
Tell Him about the joke that made you laugh.
Tell Him about the thing you’re nervous about tomorrow.
Tell Him about your dog.
Not because God needs the information.
Because relationships are built by sharing life.
And the God who conquered death to be with you is not annoyed by hearing about your day.
As I finish writing this, Figgy is curled up at my feet.
He has spent the last several hours contributing absolutely nothing to this newsletter.
Yet he seems perfectly content simply being here.
There is a lesson in that.
God does not need our productivity.
He desires our presence.
Now It’s Your Turn
I’d love to hear from you in the comments.
Do you ever find yourself hesitating to pray about the small things because you don’t want to “bother” God?
Have you ever experienced a season when your prayer life became more transactional than relational?
What helps you stay connected to God throughout the ordinary moments of your day?
And for my fellow pet owners… has an animal ever taught you something unexpected about faith, love, or life?
As always, I read every comment, and one of my favorite parts of this community is learning from your experiences and perspectives.
And if you know someone who could use the reminder that they are not bothering God, consider sharing this essay with them.
You never know whose day, or whose prayer life, might be changed by a simple reminder that they are deeply loved.
Well, Figgy is currently asleep, which I’m choosing to interpret as his official theological endorsement of this essay.
If reflections like this help you think more deeply, pray more honestly, or see God a little differently, I hope you’ll consider becoming a paid subscriber.
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Thank you for reading, thank you for being here, and give your pets an extra scratch behind the ears from me.
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Grace and peace,
