Whimpering

Paul wakes me up in the middle on the night, howling in front of my bedroom door. At 12 midnight, I am half-awake, half-asleep, trying my best to drown out the noise of his whimpering. He is thirsty, I can tell. Out of irritation, I get up and open the door. My dreams fade away from memory as I reenter reality. My glasses are elsewhere, but I know where to go. The dim light in the living room guides me to the front door, where Paul eagerly awaits me. 

That episode reminds me of prayer. If I can be moved by the ceaseless noise of a dog to get out of my comfort zone, how much more will God, whose love is infinite, unconditional, and unfathomable, hear my prayers, listen to my longings, and do what’s best?