From Anxiety to Abiding: What My Dog Taught Me About Philippians 4
Picture this: It's 6:47 AM, you haven't had coffee yet, and your sixty-pound "baby" has just body-slammed the back door, stolen a sock from the laundry basket, and is now giving you that unhinged, wide-eyed look that says, "I am absolutely feral today and we haven't even started yet." Your patience is already being tested, your coffee is getting cold, and somewhere in the back of your mind you're thinking, Lord, is this really my life?
Yes. Yes, it is. And somehow, it's also the most beautiful, ridiculous, full-hearted life you could have ever asked for.
If you've been around Abiding Paws for any time, you know we don't pretend the bully breed life is all aesthetic flat lays and perfectly posed photos. It's chaotic, it's loud, it's drool on your freshly washed jeans and a destroyed throw pillow you literally just bought. But it's also deeply joyful, wildly funny, and—if you let it—genuinely faith-building.
This week on the podcast, I dove deep into Philippians 4, and something beautiful happened: I realized this chapter has quietly become my "how to live life with dogs" survival guide. So grab that reheated coffee, settle in with your blockhead beside you, and let's walk through how one of the most beloved chapters in Scripture accidentally became the perfect manual for bully breed ownership.
Rejoice Always (Even When They've Counter-Surfed the Rotisserie Chicken):
Paul opens Philippians 4 with four words that feel almost offensive when your dog has just eaten an entire loaf of bread: "Rejoice in the Lord always." And then, as if he anticipated our reaction, he doubles down—"I will say it again: Rejoice!"
Now, Paul wrote this from an actual prison. Chains, walls, uncertainty about whether he'd live or die—and he's telling people to rejoice. When I think about being stressed because my dog destroyed another leash, Paul would probably look at my situation and say, "Friend, you're going to be okay."
Here's what I've learned about rejoicing in a bully breed household: it's not about pretending things aren't crazy. It's not toxic positivity dressed up in a Bible verse. Rejoicing is a choice you make in spite of the circumstances, not because of them. It's choosing to find humor in the chaos. It's looking at your dog—who's currently wearing your baseball cap with zero remorse—and deciding that this is a moment worth laughing about rather than losing your mind over.
With dogs, rejoicing looks like:
- Laughing instead of snapping when your dog jumps on the bed with muddy paws
- Being grateful that this wild creature trusts you so completely
- Thanking God for the companionship He knew you'd need before you even did
Joy becomes an act of resistance against despair. In a world that constantly gives us reasons to be anxious, choosing to laugh and choosing gratitude is one of the most countercultural, faith-filled things you can do.
Do Not Be Anxious About Anything (Including Vet Bills and Behavior Issues):
Here's the big one—the verse we've all memorized: "Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."
We've seen it on coffee mugs and wall art, but let's talk about what this actually feels like when you're living with a dog who has separation anxiety, resource guarding tendencies, and an inexplicable hatred of the vacuum cleaner.
Bully breed ownership surfaces anxiety you didn't know you were carrying:
- You worry about what people think when they see your dog
- You worry about whether you're training enough, socializing enough
- You worry when they're sick, when money's tight and they need emergency care
- You worry about the stereotypes every time you go out in public
Paul's instruction isn't to stop feeling anxious—he says when anxiety shows up, answer it with prayer, petition, and thanksgiving. That last part changes everything. Thanksgiving reorients your perspective. It pulls you out of the spiral and plants your feet back on solid ground.
Practically, this looks like:
- Prayer: "Lord, You love this dog more than I do. Help me make good choices."
- Petition: "We need help with this reactivity. Please provide for this vet bill."
- Thanksgiving: "Thank You that I even get to love this dog. Thank You that every time I feel out of control, it pulls me back to You."
Anxiety says: "It's all on you." Faith says: "You're responsible, but you're not alone."
Whatever Is True—Think About These Things:
A few verses later, Paul gives us practical mental health framework: "Whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."
I've started applying this directly to my dogs, and I'm not ashamed of it. When training isn't going as planned or I'm exhausted from high-energy demands, I intentionally redirect my thinking to what's true about my dog, what's lovely about them, what's admirable.
What's loud:
- "Those dogs are dangerous"
- "You'll never fix that behavior"
- "You're too soft/too strict/too inconsistent"
What's true:
- Bully breeds are loyal, affectionate, emotionally intelligent animals
- They love with their whole chest and make you feel like the most important person in the world
- God made this dog—He's not surprised by their energy, strength, or quirks
- Growth is possible for both the dog and me
When I focus on these true, lovely things, frustration loses its grip. This isn't denial—it's choosing where to plant your mental attention. Paul knew what neuroscience is catching up to: what you consistently focus on shapes how you feel and who you become.
I Have Learned to Be Content (The Secret Bully Breed Owners Know):
Here's the verse that quietly wrecked me: "I have learned, in whatever state I am, to be content." The key word is learned. Contentment isn't a personality trait—it's a skill developed through practice, through going through hard things and choosing to stay anchored anyway.
Dog life teaches you contentment whether you sign up for it or not:
- Content with a house that will never be fully free of dog hair
- Content with a social life that revolves around dog-friendly patios
- Content with loving something so deeply that the vulnerability is almost terrifying
- Content in the apartment phase while dreaming of a big yard
- Content with the work-in-progress dog, not just the "finished product"
Paul goes on to say he's learned the secret of being content in plenty or in want. Dog life has trained me in this—I've known the "plenty" days when everything clicks, and the "want" days of sleepless nights, vet scares, and behavior setbacks. Both are classrooms where Jesus teaches me to lean on Him instead of my own strength or my dog's performance.
I Can Do All This Through Him Who Gives Me Strength:
We see Philippians 4:13 on jerseys and tattoos, but in context, Paul's talking about enduring hardship, being content whether life is easy or brutal, relying on Christ's strength rather than his own.
Applied to our world, it's less "I can run a marathon with my dog" and more "I can keep showing up. I can keep loving. I can stay kind. I can walk through chaos without losing my faith... because Christ strengthens me."
You can:
- Face the judgment that sometimes comes with bully breed ownership
- Go through the grief of losing a pet and still cling to God
- Walk through money stress and emotional overload and still say, "Lord, I'm tired, but I trust You"
- Hold the leash when your stubborn dog decides they're not moving another inch
"I can do all this" looks ordinary from the outside. It's supernatural strength to stay faithful in a very real, very messy life.
Why Abiding Paws Exists in This Holy Chaos:
Abiding Paws was born right in the middle of this beautiful mess—bully breeds who don't fit the "safe, tidy, cute" stereotype, owners who love Jesus but are also sarcastic and over-caffeinated, real faith lived out in muddy pawprints and dog hair.
When I create our embroidered designs with bold faith statements and humor, it's because I know what it feels like to try being a light in a world that misunderstands your dog, to hold onto truth when your life doesn't look filtered, to need a reminder—right on your chest or cap—that you're abiding in Christ even when everything feels loud.
Philippians 4 reminds me:
- Rejoice right now, not later
- Be gentle—your power is noticed, but so is your softness
- Pray about everything
- Dwell on what's true, not what's loud
- Be content in every season
- Rely on His strength, not your image or control
Living It Out Today:
Here's how to live a Philippians 4 kind of day with your bully:
When the day starts stressful, whisper: "Lord, I rejoice in You right now," even stepping over toys and laundry.
When your dog tests your patience, take a breath, speak calmly, let your gentleness be evident—to your dog, your family, and your own heart.
When anxiety hits, stop and say it out loud: "God, I'm giving You this. I'm scared, but I'm asking for Your help." Then thank Him for at least one thing about your dog.
When your mind replays worst-case scenarios, ask: "Is this true, noble, lovely, or praiseworthy?" If not, it doesn't get front-row seating in your thoughts.
When you feel like you're failing, remember: "I can do all this through Him"—not because you're crushing it, but because He's carrying you.
If you're a bully breed owner trying to follow Jesus, you're exactly who I had in mind when Abiding Paws was born. You're allowed to laugh at the chaos, cry when it's heavy, wear your faith loud on a tee or hat, and be wildly imperfect while deeply loved by God.
We don't have to wait for life—or the dog—to be "fixed" to live with peace, joy, and bold faith. We just have to keep abiding. Paws and all.
Ready to dive deeper? Listen to this week's podcast episode where we explore Philippians 4 and the beautiful chaos of dog life. And while you're at it, check out our latest embroidered designs that celebrate the perfectly imperfect life of faith and fur.