Not a Button, Just a Paw

I wish there was a button we could push for healing.

I truly do.

We sing songs about how God can heal us. Sometimes He does. Sometimes He chooses not to.

What I have learned over the years is that healing is usually a process, and that process often teaches us invaluable lessons.

A couple of weeks ago, Moses tripped me while he was doing some fantastic heelwork. At first, I thought I was fine... until I wasn't.

Since then, I've been rotating through ice, heat, a knee brace, and just about every combination imaginable. Thankfully, my knee is slowly getting better.

In the meantime, I've been learning more about Moses. I've been watching how his mind works and discovering just how intelligent he is. Because of that, I have to think differently as his trainer. What initially felt like an unwanted interruption has become an opportunity to understand him better.

Again, healing is usually a process, but most of us want the button approach. I know I do.

We hear Romans 8:28 quoted often:

"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose."

It makes me wonder: How much of the healing process exists because God wants to teach us something we couldn't learn any other way?

Still, there are days when I find myself asking:

"Where is the button, Lord?"

Please!

In 2 Kings 5, we read the story of Naaman. Naaman was a respected military commander, but he suffered from leprosy, a disease affecting the skin and nerves that left him desperate for healing. When he sought help from the prophet Elisha, I imagine he expected something dramatic. Surely there would be a grand prayer, a miraculous touch, or an instant cure. After all, he was an important man.

Instead, Elisha sent a messenger with a simple instruction: wash in the Jordan River seven times.

Naaman was offended.

The river wasn't impressive. The instructions seemed too simple. The process felt beneath him. He wanted healing, but he wanted it on his terms.

Yet healing came when Naaman humbled himself and obeyed.

I wonder if we're often the same way.

We want instant healing from grief, heartache, physical pain, loneliness, uncertainty, and disappointment. We want God to press the button and make everything right.

Instead, He often walks us through a process.

A prayer.

A conversation.

A lesson in patience.

A step of faith.

A deeper dependence on Him.

And somewhere along the way, we discover that God's primary goal isn't simply to heal our circumstances. He is also shaping our hearts.

That's not always easy to accept.

In fact, it can be downright frustrating.

But looking back, many of the greatest lessons in my life were learned during the waiting, not the miracle. During the process, not the breakthrough.

As I've watched my knee slowly improve and spent time learning how Moses thinks, I've begun to realize that what first appeared to be an interruption may actually be an invitation. An invitation to slow down. To observe. To learn. To trust.

Perhaps that's because God knows something we often forget: the healing isn't the greatest gift He has to offer.

The greatest gift is Himself.

This truth is one of the cornerstones of Kingdom Comfort Dogs.

We understand that a visit from a therapy dog is not a cure. It is not a magic button that suddenly makes grief disappear, anxiety fade, loneliness vanish, or pain go away.

Our prayer is that by offering a visit from a therapy dog, it might be a step in someone's healing process.

One moment of connection.

One reason to smile.

One reminder that they are seen, valued, and loved.

One opportunity to experience comfort and hope.

Healing is often a journey rather than an event. If a therapy dog can help someone take the next step on that journey, then we are honored to be part of the process.

Perhaps that is how God often works. Not always through instant cures or miraculous buttons, but through people, relationships, acts of kindness, and moments of compassion that move us one step closer to healing and one step closer to Him.

That's why these lyrics from Casting Crowns' song Healer resonate so deeply:

More than comfort, we need the King
More than gifts, we need the Giver
More than blessings, we need Your presence
More than the healing, we need the Healer

Naaman came seeking healing, but he left with something greater. He left knowing more about God than when he arrived.

Maybe that's true for us as well.

We want healing, and God certainly cares about our hurts. But sometimes He uses the process to draw us closer to the Healer.

So, while I continue to heal, and while Moses continues to teach me lessons, I wasn't expecting to learn, I'm trying to trust God's process.

Even when I'd rather have the button.

Especially then.

Sandy