More Precious Than Silver

My sorry-excuse for a step-dog tips the scales at 10 pounds. Charlie's poor little brain is probably about the size of a thimble, bless his tiny little heart. Other than being bi-polar and anxiety-ridden, his hobbies include barking. Just barking. Science cannot yet explain how it's possible for such a small mammal to have such a loud, screeching, ear-piercing bark. He barks indiscriminately: he barks at a knock at the door; he barks at anything that resembles a knock at the door or the ring of a doorbell (watching Wheel of Fortune is a disaster); he barks at adults; he barks at children; he barks at birds; he barks at other dogs. You name it, Charlie barks at it. Sometimes when I let him out in the backyard he takes off at full speed, unleashed and untethered, barking his head off. He'll run around randomly from one end of the yard to the other, wildly, frantically, barking at the wind. It's pitiful.
Dogs like this shouldn't exist. It's science. Someone decided to breed the tiniest, cutest little ball of fur that they could, and in doing so they bred out of him reason, intelligence, and any shred of instinct his canine ancestors once possessed. Nature did not select my step-dog; some crazy blue-haired French lady did. And now, because of this undoing of nature, if I let him off his leash and set him free out into the wild, he wouldn't last a second. He'd be gobbled up by a coyote or a snake or a racoon or some large bird-of-prey and there would be no more Charlie. Just a pile of curly, black, hypoallergenic fur. Pitiful.
My point is that Charlie needs me. He needs me to keep that leash on him so I can reign him in when he gets it in his thumbnail-sized Medulla Oblongata that he's going to bark at that German Shepherd down the street. He needs me to tell him when to shut up and stop barking at the harmless cub scout at our door. He needs me to hold him back when he gets distracted by something shiny and takes off across a busy street. If I let him go, he'd be toast. At best, he'd just run around barking at the wind.
When you've gained the fullness of confidence attained through the discipline of singleness, you will probably have come to notice an interesting phenomenon during your time spent avoiding relationships: your heart is really dumb. In fact, your heart is a total idiot sometimes. You might say that your heart bears a strong resemblance to a 10-pound poodle. It is often crazy. It wants to make bad decisions. It doesn't always know what it wants or why it wants it. It's a loose cannon, and if you don't reign it back in, you will forever find yourself chasing after the wind. Like my dog, you have to keep your heart on its lead to protect it from itself. You have to talk some sense into it or allow others to speak to it, because following it blindly across that busy street will lead to certain disaster.
You might have heard the phrase, "follow your heart." You might have even heard it in a Disney movie. There may never have been three words more foolish and damaging as these. If you let your heart take the lead, if you chase after whatever feels good at the time, you will end up chasing after every whim and fancy, every little shiny thing that crosses your path. Follow your heart? It's not always the best advice. Lead it. Protect it. Guard it.

Falling in love doesn't just happen
What does it mean to guard your heart? It's a phrase that's probably overused and not well understood. It's certainly not easy. After all, we live in a follow-your-heart culture that tells us to toss good judgement aside and pursue whatever tugs at our hearts the most at any given point in time. We live in a culture where falling in love is expected, unavoidable, idolized and idealized. But falling in love doesn't just happen. In fact, it is completely avoidable. It is under the auspices of falling in love that we'll see what it truly means to guard your heart.