My schnauzer hates thunderstorms. Like many dogs, she's terrified by the wild flash of lights and the heartstopping, thunderous booms that follow. During a thunderstorm, she can be found deeply burrowed in the blankets folded at the bottom of the linen closet, shaking and terrified. It seems that there is no comfort for an animal scared of the elements. I'd decided years ago, that I'd only coax her out of her hiding place if she needed to go outside or if I was going to bed. Last night, a monsoon rolled in while we were away watching fireworks. Upon our arrival home, she greeted us happily and then retreated to her den of safekeeping to wait out the storm. A few minutes later, I called to her and she didn't come. I called again, this time a bit louder and sterner, yet she still didn't move from her nest. Realizing that she was no doubt frightened to the point that she couldn't move, I knelt down on my knees, reached inside the closet and caressed her face. As I withdrew my hand, she followed. I scooped her into my arms and jumped on the bed. When I climbed under the covers, she snuggled in close and sighed. While the storm raged outside, she couldn't be moved. She stayed firmly against my side, her head tucked under my neck and slept peacefully. Only an ear-splitting crash of thunder would stir her, but just for a moment and then she'd sigh again and close her eyes. It was only at the touch of my hand that she would leave the safety of her small hiding place. She's the only one who can hide there and if one does not look, they'll never find her. However, her master knew where she was and sought her out. Once safely in my arms, she trusted that no harm would come to her while she nestled there. She came to me six years ago, battered and broken by the hands of someone she trusted. The first time I reached out to her, she bit me. The second time I reached out, she pulled away, but then turned around and tentatively took a step towards me. The third time, she sat quietly trembling in my arms while I murmured words of love to her. She comes to me when she's happy, when she's scared (unless it's a storm) and when she's sick. The only time she doesn't come running to me is when she's caught tearing up something or getting into the trash can. It is in those moments that she runs and hides from me, determined to never be found. I'm not saying we're dogs, but I can see a correlation between a dog's behavior towards its owner and man's behavior towards God. We are often angry when God reaches out to us. We hide behind a myriad of emotions and behaviors when we've done something we know to be wrong. But when God touches us, He touches something deep inside and we instinctively, tentatively draw closer to Him. He'll always call us, always reach out to us, urging us to come and rest in His arms. And it's when we leave our hiding places and leap into the Master's arms that we find peace.