“You shouldn’t be here. You are not one of us.”I was coming out of the practice ring at Nationals many years ago, where my golden retriever, Gracie, was preparing to compete. It was a miracle we were here, considering that competing in the dog ring brought huge fears of failure for me. It didn’t help that my sweet golden retriever could be wildly unpredictable. Leading up to this moment, there had been many times when we were escorted out of the ring after the dreaded NQ. Not qualifying, and the humiliating walk out of the ring was always in the back of my mind. Those fears were looming large when the lady approached us with those hurtful words. She followed them up with the sentence that broke my heart: “You are simply not good enough at this.”What made this lady believe I wasn’t good enough? I ran through the possibilities, my hands shaking as I held Gracie’s leash. Did I train my dog wrong? Was the embroidery on my shirt not up to the standard? Was I wearing the wrong colors? The questions came down to whether I believed I was “enough.”
Thirty minutes later, our time came to compete, and it was at this moment that one of the event photographers took the photo posted above. It is a candid capture of what had just happened, and you can see it on my face. Pure deflation. Gracie felt it too. The words, not good enough, not one of us, were playing on repeat in my head. I wanted to run and hide, but instead I had to walk my dog into that competition ring. I felt like there was a giant sign on my back announcing to the waiting crowd that my dog and I were not good enough. “Are you ready?” The judge nodded at me, and I swallowed hard and gripped the leash tighter.
“Yes, I am.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. I looked down at Gracie and she had her head turned up at me with a look in her eye I had never seen. My sweet Gracie knew my 
heart was broken, and she was going to do her best to get me through the toughest competition of my life. We didn’t have a cheering section like many teams brought, but I knew we had enough. God, my dog, and me. I felt love and strength, and we nailed that competition. My husband greeted us as we walked out of the ring and wiped a tear as he whispered to me, “You don’t want to be one of them, Lisa, because you are you. And there’s no better you than you!” He gave Gracie and me a big hug. I didn’t need a cheering section. The truth of those words backed up everything that had happened in that ring. Even if we had lost, we were still good enough.
heart was broken, and she was going to do her best to get me through the toughest competition of my life. We didn’t have a cheering section like many teams brought, but I knew we had enough. God, my dog, and me. I felt love and strength, and we nailed that competition. My husband greeted us as we walked out of the ring and wiped a tear as he whispered to me, “You don’t want to be one of them, Lisa, because you are you. And there’s no better you than you!” He gave Gracie and me a big hug. I didn’t need a cheering section. The truth of those words backed up everything that had happened in that ring. Even if we had lost, we were still good enough.I ran into that lady at the end of the competition and asked her what she meant by her comment. “You have way too much fun in the dog ring,” she replied. “You don’t follow protocol. You are not one of us. We take our dog training seriously.” She narrowed her eyes and added, “Weren’t you the one that gave the judge a party hat in the ring after you won a ribbon in rally?” I felt relief. So that was my problem! Yes, I was the one who gave the judge a party hat, and we danced in the ring together. But what the lady didn’t realize was the judge had just been diagnosed with cancer, and Mom and I wanted her to have a party hat like the one we wore during chemo treatments. I brought it hoping I would qualify with my dog in that judge’s ring. We wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone, and that we were praying for her. The judge wore that party hat and we danced together. It was a precious moment.
As I stood with the lady who believed I was not “one of them,” I realized she was right, and I apologized to her for my frustration. She was even more confused when I hugged her and thanked her for giving me one of the best compliments I had ever received. She had provided a teachable moment with my dog. Training my dog was about having fun and bonding. It was therapy, and if God wanted to use my dogs and me to minister to others, it was both a privilege and answered prayer. The dog competitions were not about ribbons and medals, both of which ended up in a box in my closet. It was about the lessons I learned and the ministry of loving people with the dogs by my side. Those dogs have taught me more than any human ever has. Even the dreaded NQs were not failures, but opportunities to improve.That day, I walked out of the ring with a ribbon, a happy golden retriever, and a lesson I carry with me. No competition, person, or opinion
can change Who I belong to, my love for my dogs, and my desire to have fun and love people along the way. If all the dog training led up to that day and the awareness that I was good enough and fulfilling God’s purpose for my life, then it was worth it.
can change Who I belong to, my love for my dogs, and my desire to have fun and love people along the way. If all the dog training led up to that day and the awareness that I was good enough and fulfilling God’s purpose for my life, then it was worth it. Since that competition, I have never entered the ring again with my dogs and have no plans to compete again. But the joy I have had in training five therapy dogs and one
service dog to spread love and joy to people has been so rewarding. I may not be receiving ribbons in the competition ring, but there is nothing better than seeing a child who has walked through trauma break into smiles and laughter because of my dogs. The comfort and joy they bring is the best award I could receive. And it lasts forever.
service dog to spread love and joy to people has been so rewarding. I may not be receiving ribbons in the competition ring, but there is nothing better than seeing a child who has walked through trauma break into smiles and laughter because of my dogs. The comfort and joy they bring is the best award I could receive. And it lasts forever.
Remember Whose you are. Savor the moments and don’t sweat the NQs in life. They will make you stronger and wiser for the journey ahead. You are enough.