This is a weird time in my life. Now I know that because we never really have experienced the present part of our lives until now, EVERY time in our life can seem weird. However, I think I can officially claim this part of my life to be the most unique part yet.
It’s so unique, I think this is the first time that I can say I am a completely different animal. As a matter of fact, I feel a bit like God’s road dog. Now before I get harangued about the blasphemy coming out of my mouth, lemme explain.
When I was living in the homeless shelter, some of the kids would have dogs. Most of the time, the dog would be as beautiful as their owners. Sometimes they would look a bit different (again, like their owners). One time I saw a dog that looked like a cross between a coyote and a golden retriever… and wouldn’t you have guess it, it WAS…but I digress.
These dogs weren’t your typical dogs. I heard a train rider once referred to his canine campagian as his “road dog”. I didn’t understand. He explained, “That’s my buddy. We’ve been there for each other thick and thin. He takes care o’ me, I take care o’ him.”
I never fully understood the how deep the bond was until three days after this conversation. We had opened the shelter and that same train rider had returned. His arms sagged. His hair was limp, not the six inch spiked Mohawk he typically sported, and his goth attire looked more disheveled than usual. And when I got up close, his eyes were bloodshot, as if he had not slept for days. I asked him what was wrong, and he could not speak. Stammers slipped out of his throat. He looked as if he was trying to maintain his “gutterpunk” composure, but deep in his eyes, I could see sadness and pain. So, after asking my boss, we took a walk. I offered to buy him a soda with the little money I had, but he refused. We walked together in silence for a few blocks. I prayed really hard to say the right things, but sometimes, God uses silence as a prime medium to speak. After ten solid minutes of listening to our shoes pound against the cracked pavement, he looked at me and said, “He’s gone…”
My mind flashed. I went from thoughts of dead street kids to jilted girlfriends to kids being victims of addicted parents. Before I could say anything, the guy fell to the ground: heavy wallet chains, nose piercings, and all, sobbing: “My road dog is gone. Someone jacked him last night when I was gone. Took him away. He took him and… NOW WHO’S GOING TO…” he didn’t finish, but just sat with his head in his knees and cried.
I didn’t know what to do. I had lost pets before, but it was nothing like this. This was like losing a family member, and when some street kids didn’t have much of a family life, it seemed devastating. I remember sitting with him and crying. We cried until his hungry stomach told us to leave. We left like we were leaving luggage that we once needed, but now had no use for, lighter but walking a bit lopsided.
So, right now in my life I feel a bit like God’s road dog. I know that I am more than just a pet of God. I know that I am His son through the blood of Christ. However, with the ways that I act, this metaphor only seems appropriate. There are times when I run off for one sin or another. During those times I can see God crying a mighty and tender cry, waiting for His son, his “road dog”, to return. When I do, I feel like we pick up where we left off: through the cold and the rain, on trains and in hostels, under bridges and starry night skies, together, living forever.
