Aren’t they adorable? So cute and cuddly you just want to pick them up out of the basket and take them home with you? Kind of like babies… you can’t imagine anyone who would want them to not be around. If anyone gets annoyed with them, you don’t understand why. They couldn’t possibly be that much trouble.That may be you, but that is definitely not me. I guess I get that from Mom, because she’s not an animal person, either. She has a story she will always tell about one of the times when we did have a dog… back in North Carolina (I think) when I was really, really small. The point she always makes is that Dad was in the Marine Corps at the time, and they got the dog, then he shipped out for a six or seven month deployment, and she was left responsible for taking care of it while he was gone. Oh, and then there’s the story of the one time when I was baby and the neighbor’s dog (which was huge) jumped into the car and was barking up a storm and scared the living daylights out of me. I guess I was just destined to never be fond of dogs.
All of this to say the irony is that we have dogs. Too many dogs, really. My uncle’s dogs, which he hasn’t really done anything with since he got married and moved out over four years ago. To make the matter even more interesting, most of our front fence was obliterated by construction types in the process of putting sidewalk in for a community that probably won’t be seriously developed until after the housing market starts seriously picking up out here again. Makeshift is the best we have (they’ve been gone for a few months now, and have yet to replace the old fence), so these dogs get out on a regular basis. They get out, they wander in the driveway, they settle into parking spaces while you’re gone, and don’t realize that they’re in the way until you nearly hit them.
It seems inevitable for me that whenever I’m in a vehicle, this is what happens. Especially when I’m in one with Mom. It never fails to make me angry, either. I’m sure Mom gets just as sick of me muttering under my breath about the dogs as she does about the dogs being in the middle of the driveway.
Which is exactly what happened tonight on the way to church. We were on our way out when two or three of the dogs appeared out of nowhere, and just started ambling along in front of the SUV like nothing is behind them. One in particular, which was white but covered in mud (so not so white), did not get out of the way at all until we all but hit her. Looking back now, I realize she’s the one that is mostly blind and mostly deaf, and really getting old. But at that moment, all I could think about was the fact that she was so stupid. Why didn’t she just get out of the way?
As God is prone to do in these situations (usually when I least expect them), He hit me with an epiphany as we peeled out and went along our merry little way. That white dog is me.
What I mean to say is that in life, I’m the dirty, mangy, hard of hearing and hard of sight dog that doesn’t realize something is amiss until it gets hit by whatever is coming along. I amble blindly down whatever path I’m on, not thinking anything is wrong… and then – smack! I’m lying in the middle of the road, gasping for breath, groping blindly for a footing so I can pull myself back up and start down the path again.
But if I’m the dog, then Jesus is the random good Samaritan driver who pulls over and rushes out into the middle of traffic to save me. I pant and moan, looking miserably out at the road as he carries me to his truck, tends to my wounds, and then takes me to the veterinarian (God) to look over my wounds and fix me up. Isn’t Jesus amazing?
I hope I never look at that dog the same way again.
