Levi The Wonderdog - And the Heart of Worship
I once had an Australian Shepherd named Levi. In my estimation, he was the greatest cowdog of all time. I used to call him “Levi McFly, one of the McFly brothers” — even though his last name wasn’t McFly and, as far as I know, he didn’t have any brothers.
We live on a small ranch in Old Miakka, Florida, and Levi was my first real cowdog. I got him as a puppy when we first moved to the ranch, so he grew up alongside me — always at my side, always devoted. Whether I was mending a fence line, repairing the windmill, working cows, taking walks, or playing with the kids, Levi was there.
He also earned the nickname “Thunder Chaser.” At the first sound of thunder, he would take off, barking and running feverishly in every direction, determined to find the source. In Southwest Florida — the lightning capital of the world — you can imagine how often he lived up to that name.
One day, a dog trainer saw Levi next to me and remarked, “That’s a good dog.” When I asked why, he said, “Watch his eyes — they’re always on you, waiting for direction.” It was true. Levi was constantly watching, hoping for the “go ahead” on another cow chase, always ready for action.
One hot summer day, we were working cows. Levi threw himself into the job, rounding them up and driving them into the pens with the same reckless abandon he always had. It was as if he knew this was what he was born for. By the time the last cow was penned, Levi had left everything on the field.
But something went wrong. His breathing became erratic, and he couldn’t cool down. I put him in a nearby cattle trough, hoping to bring his temperature down, and then brought him back to the house. But the brutal Florida heat had done its damage. He never recovered. That day was a hard one for the Coder house — harder than I could have imagined. I loved that dog, and now he was gone.
I loved that dog, and now he was gone.
During that season, I had been teaching in our local fellowship about worship. The literal meaning of worship is, “to move in God’s direction so as to kiss Him.” I had often illustrated it by comparing it to a dog’s unreserved devotion — how it will affectionately lick its master’s hand without hesitation.
Levi did that all the time. If I stopped to rest, he would come over, lick my hand, then tuck his head underneath it for a scratch or a pat of approval. Many times, I’d rest my hand on his head while cooling down in the shade with a glass of tea.
The day after Levi died, I got up as usual, put on my work clothes and boots, and stepped outside to start the day. And then it happened — or rather, it didn’t. I stopped and instinctively waited for Levi’s head to come under my hand. The habit was so strong. But he wasn’t there. Sadness washed over me as I grieved my faithful friend.
Worship – “to move in God’s direction so as to kiss Him.”
And then, the revelation came. As devoted as Levi was to me, how much more does God wait for His children to come to Him — to touch Him, to love Him, to express unreserved devotion? “To move in God’s direction so as to kiss Him” suddenly carried a deeper meaning.
Our God is a God of touch. He holds out His hand, longing for the affectionate worship of His people. Through the prophet Isaiah, He said, “I have held out my hand all day long…” (Isaiah 65:2).
Levi, though just a dog, loved faithfully until the end. How much more should God find us content under His outstretched hand — loving, worshiping, and resting in His presence.
His hand is extended. He waits for you.
Hallelujah!
Steve Coder
Amazing, what a story and what truth!