by jphilo | Oct 16, 2015 | Church Newsletter Columns
This Fantastic Friday stars Abby, the quirky dachshund we once owned. (She’s the dog in the front in the photo. The other is Ellie, who belonged to my brother and his lovely wife.) Isn’t it amazing how God uses the creatures he creates to teach us more about him?
So the ransomed of the Lord will return,
And come with joyful shouting to Zion;
And everlasting joy will be on their heads.
Isaiah 51:11
Not too many years ago, we owned Abby, a yippy, snippy, little dachshund whose bark was much bigger than her brain. Once Anne left home, Abby grew increasingly nervous and unhappy. Eventually, she moved in with my brother, his wife, their two daughters and two dogs. She now lives in the closest thing to dog heaven on earth and is happy as a clam, though she’s a dog, not a clam.
Two months in dog heaven and Abby forgot me. With never a fair-thee-well, she transferred her affection to my sister-in-law, who loves the traitor unconditionally. Abby even forgot Hiram, who was the light of her life for many year once he gained her trust. Until she left us, he was the object of every speck of doggy devotion she could muster, which wasn’t much due to her small cache of brain cells.
But during a recent visit at the bro’s family, Hiram walked in and his presence sparked something in Abby’s itty bitty brain. She wiggled at his feet, ran around the house with youthful vigor (a mighty feat since she’s several pounds overweight and her belly drags on the floor), wiggled at his feet again, ran around again – like she did when she lived with us. Hiram patted her head, and she squirmed with delight at his touch.
Hiram welcomed her flighty love without rancor though he knew she would soon forget him. He didn’t begrudge the many hours spent proving his faithfulness to the younger Abby who had never before experienced such lavish love. He welcomed her fleeting affection, no strings attached.
I smiled as the silly little dog worshipped at his feet. Suddenly, a truth dawned on me. God loves me like that. No matter what I do, no matter how I presume upon His kindness, no matter how long I ignore His presence, God loves me just like that. He is always near, waiting for me to recognize the sound of His voice, the tread of His step. Waiting for the memory of His love to jog my brain which is far too small to comprehend His being. Waiting for the reality of His love to revive my joy, to send me running in circles, wriggling at His feet, squirming with delight as His hand touches my head.
God loves me – a silly, flighty woman with feet of clay – like that.
God loves you like that.
Not because of who we are, but because of who He is: the God who ransoms sinners by His love. Love from a God like that is the closest thing to heaven on earth, a place of peace and rest and worship.
It is eternal life.
by jphilo | Feb 1, 2011 | Family
You may be surprised to see another recycled post, in light of Friday’s big news that the first draft of Different Dream Parenting is done. Really, truly, the recycled posts will end soon, but a grace period is needed until I catch up on all the things shoved into the “when the first draft is done” pile.
Perhaps this post from February 4, 2009 will put a smile on your face. The “yesterday’s worries” mentioned in the first line refer to the bitterly cold and snowy winter chronicled in the previous day’s post. Our weather’s a little better this winter (though as I write, snow is falling and a doozy of a storm is predicted for tonight), but Abby the dog remains unchanged. Her two constant, subliminal messages are “pet me, pet me” and “feed me, feed me.” She is as fickle as ever, as happy to live with my sister-in-law as ever, as demanding as ever, and a wonderful diversion in the middle of winter.
Pet Me, Pet Me
You’ll be glad to know that yesterday’s worries about driving elderly women around in the cold came to naught. By the time I picked them up, the car was toasty, and we found a perfect handicapped parking spot in the first lot we scoped out – six feet from the Applebee’s entrance. The pavement was dry, the sun was shining, and we talked the hours away.
It was the fickle dachshund we used to own that cast a pall on the afternoon. Normally, when I visit Mom, Abby tosses her hair over her shoulder, shrugs, and with her grey little nose in the air, turns away. If my sister-in-law, who is the love of Abby’s life is home, the dog doesn’t acknowledge me at all.
But yesterday, when I was working on Mom’s checkbook, a task which takes the coordinated effort of all my brain cells and absolutely no interruptions, Abby decided she loved me again. Of course, she didn’t really love me. She just wanted to use me, or at least my hand, which she decided should be petting her since she’s a whole lot cuter than Mom’s checkbook. At least that’s what she thinks, but the checkbook might have a different opinion.
Anyway, the dog hunkered down at my feet and stared at me, or rather at my hand, sending one of the two subliminal messages she knows. Pet me, pet me. In case you’re wondering, the second message is Feed me, feed me. The second subliminal message explains why Abby remained at my feet instead of on my lap. She’s gotten too fat to jump on the couch. So she stared and stared while I concentrated on recording deposits and withdrawals in the right column, something I routinely mess up in our checkbook, but not in Mom’s. I would never live it down.
Finally, the stare got to me, and I petted the dog. For a few minutes we were best friends again. She tried to make me feel like the center of her world, but I didn’t fall for the little scam. I reminded myself that the minute my sister-in-law walked through the door, the fickle, people-using dachshund would abandon me without a second thought. Having avoided a frigid lunch disaster, I wasn’t about to succumb to heartbreak at the paws of a cold-hearted canine.
I got home, heart intact, in time for supper with Hiram. I didn’t even mention our people-using ex-dog to him. Unlike me, he takes it personally.
