"The dog got out today…." My teammate, Jacquelyn, informed me when I came into the kitchen. This 'dog' she speaks of is named Mercy. She lives in a pen next to our contact's house.
"What?!? What happened??" I asked, eyebrows raised, deciding to settle in for this one.
"Well…"
(Dramatic pause)
"I was taking her the taco salad…"
(Deep breath)
"And I've done it before, and usually when I open the door, she's so distracted by the food…she doesn't notice anything else…"
(Pause)
"She usually chooses the food over the freedom…but not this time…she bolted."
She usually chooses the food over the freedom.
"So, Milroy and I chased that dog at least a mile…well, might not have been a mile…and really it was Milroy that ran…but Mercy would get held up for a little bit by the chickens or other dogs, then bolt again when we'd get close. FINALLY, we got her…well, Milroy got her…I guess Mercy was distracted by another dog when Milroy grabbed her. And then I held her by the collar all the way back to her pen."
* * * *
Mercy chose freedom yesterday.
And she ran out from what she was used to.
She ran to find what she'd been hearing for so long.
But she didn't go far enough.
She lingered a little too close to the place that she'd left.
She'd gotten out of the pen, but she wasn't ready to leave it all
There were things outside the pen that still seemed okay to explore.
She wasn't technically IN the pen anymore…so what could possibly go wrong with exploring a little?
What could possibly go wrong?
Well…today she is back in the pen.
* * * *
What does this have to do with me or you or anyone?
Well, honestly, it may not resonate with you.
But, sometimes the thing set before me (which at times literally IS food) stands in the path of freedom.
The thing isn't even inherently bad…a girl's gotta eat, right?
But sometimes I am so distracted by it that I don't even notice that freedom is at hand.
However, there have been times that I've chosen to run…and like Mercy, I've bolted
But I let the comforts of old thoughts and routines and habits keep me in the vicinity of the very thing I just escaped…rationalizing that I'm not actually IN the pen…so it's okay.
But it's not…
Because when I'm distracted, I get pulled back in…
I look around, and the food is gone…
And I'm suddenly very aware of the fact that I'm back in that pen…
Yet…here's the turning point…
Mercy is never without hope.
For tomorrow…tomorrow the food will come again.
And Mercy will get to choose again.
And I will get to choose again.
And you will get to choose again.
Because there isn't a day that freedom isn't hers to take.
There isn't a day…
So…maybe tomorrow she'll choose freedom…over the food.
And maybe this time…
She'll get the hell out of here.
