My daughter Stephanie and her husband David adopted a Welsh Corgi and named him Frodo, after the Hobbit who does great things despite his small stature. When they first brought him to meet his new grandmother (me, who has two cats and does not care for dogs), I could see the Hobbit connection at once: Frodo stands a full 11 inches high at the shoulder, which, allowing for body depth, leaves about six inches for the legs. From the front he looks like a brown German Shepherd; from the rear he looks like a rabbit. Since Stef spoils Frodo and his sister Ginger (a white cocker mix--see her story here) rather royally, I did not have much opportunity at first to see what he could do under pressure.

 Then came the summer day when Frodo and Ginger were visiting at my home, which has no back yard--only a pool, some landscaping, and a lot of concrete decking. Since it was such a hot day, several people were in the pool, so naturally Frodo and Ginger were afforded the (involuntary) opportunity to cool off, too--they got tossed in. Ginger swam straight to the edge and clambered out, but Frodo swam around a little. It was touching to watch him paddle furiously with those short, stout legs, barely keeping his head above the water. But he seemed to like it.

 Both dogs were placed on a sturdy raft in the pool. Ginger strained toward the edge, looking for a way out, but Frodo stood at attention on the raft like a sea captain, keeping his balance nimbly on the waves. He was really enjoying himself!

 Over the next several months, Frodo enlarged upon his mastery of the pool. Occasionally, he dug up small rocks from the landscaping and dropped them in various places around the shallow end. Grandmother firmly believes he did this to ascertain the depth of the pool (which is about 3 ½ feet in the shallow end and 8 feet in the deep end). He discovered that standing on the top step in the shallow end (which sits about 6 inches under the surface) allowed him to cool off without risking a plunge into the water. For although he loved to swim, he seemed reluctant to take the dive necessary to get there. As he was perfectly willing to ride on the raft, however, Grandmother got in the habit of draping the raft over the edge of the pool, half in and half out of the water. That way, Frodo could walk out on the raft, get nice and wet, and then walk back up to the safe deck.

 The day came that Frodo decided he was tired of just standing on the raft or the step. He ventured out to the end of the raft as usual, biting at the water to subdue it. Then he launched himself off the raft and swam a lap around the shallow end of the pool. His family applauded and Ginger barked at him, safely away from the edge. Thereafter, he used the raft as a launching pad to swim laps around the shallow end--first it was one lap, then two, then three, then he ventured a lap into the deep end. When he was finished, he would climb back up on the raft or the top step to get out, feisty and invigorated, and chase Ginger.

 All this was entertaining enough until my son Glenn decided to swim laps while Frodo was on the raft in the pool. (Glenn, an all-state swimmer in high school, normally disdains our small pool. His start dive alone carries him across the length of it.) But when Glenn got in, Frodo came to life. He began barking in a high, excited voice, and as Glenn swam past the raft, Frodo suddenly jumped off after him. 

 For the next few minutes, Frodo followed Glenn all around the pool. Glenn would let him swim after him for a while, then stop in the shallow end and catch him so he could rest. Then Glenn would put him back on the raft or the edge. But as soon as Glenn moved away, Frodo shoved off from the raft right after him. It was so sweet to see Frodo determinedly paddle after Glenn wherever he went, right or left, deep end or shallow.

 The last time Glenn put him back on the deck, we noticed that the raft had floated away from the edge. In a state of high excitement, Frodo ran all around the perimeter of the pool, looking for a way to reach his launching pad, his safe entrance into the water. It was gone. He barked anxiously at Glenn, who stood in the water about 6 feet away. Frodo paced and barked, barked and paced.

 Finally, Glenn clapped his hands and called, "Come get me, Frodo!"

 At that beckoning, Frodo the Magnificent took a mighty standing leap from the edge of the pool and landed like a stone just in front of Glenn, who brought him up out of the water and held him close to his chest. When Glenn put him back on the deck, Frodo turned around and jumped in without hesitation.

 The game of jump and swim continued at length. At first, Frodo would only jump in from one place on the shallow end. But as his confidence increased, he began jumping from wherever he was put on the deck. The point of departure didn't matter anymore, only the target: Glenn.

 Watching, I couldn't ignore this object lesson. How often do we stand on the edge, looking for a safe way in, when what is called for is a flying leap? I thought of the old hymn by Cecil Frances Alexander that begins,

 Jesus calls us over the tumult   
Of our life's wild, restless sea;
Day by day his sweet voice soundeth,
Saying, "Christian, follow me!"

You hear Him calling, but there's no safe way in? Jump. Sure, you might get wet, make a fool of yourself, and take in a mouthful of water, but He won't let you drown. It's like that scene in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade when Walter Donovan (the Bad Guy) shoots the elder Dr. Jones, forcing Indiana to go find the Holy Grail to save his dad. With Dr. Jones' life at stake, Donovan tells Indy, "It's time to ask yourself what you believe." The proof of belief is what we do. "Faith without works is dead" (James 2:26, KJV).

 To tell you the truth, Frodo's courage shamed me. I mean, his stout, compact body is not conducive to floating. So why was he so determined to get in the water with Glenn? I think because it is a Corgi's nature to take to the water. And with 6-foot-2 Glenn waiting to catch him in 3 ½ feet of water, Frodo knew he wouldn't drown. The water was way over his head, but not Glenn's. Why do we trust Jesus less? Are we not sure we hear Him? If that's the case, I certainly wouldn't jump. But sometimes you KNOW what you are supposed to do, but--where's that raft? Can't we just ease into it? Why do we have to make a big splash?

 Ironically, most of the time, He is not calling us to missionary work in deepest, darkest Africa (who of us is strong enough for that?). First, He calls us to elementary exercises of self-discipline or self-denial. We learn to trust Him in the shallow end before He calls us out to the deep.  

 When Glenn finally got out and toweled off, we dried off Frodo so he could follow his new hero into the house. Now, whenever Frodo comes over, the first thing he does is check to see if Glenn is in the pool. If he's not, Frodo won't jump in. He seems to have lost interest in swimming alone.