Welcome Back to The Wildroot Parables
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A little late in the week, perhaps, but a personal episode happened just this morning that felt ripe for unpacking in devotional form. :)
I hope that this late summer is treating you all well! Feel free as always to leave prayer requests for the weekend or the week ahead in the comment section. There are plenty here in this community—including myself—who would be honored to pray for you!
Blessings to all!
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And now, on to the devotional…
The Gospel of Dog
Love is the following of one scent when my nose is full of thousands. Love is the hearing of one voice when the world is unearthly clamor. And should I stray: Forgive me! Remind me! Give me grace in the choosing, for the choosing is daily. I return— sore-footed, burr-furred, muddy-pawed— to the warmth of Your prodigal arms.
Last year in April, we adopted our second dog—Huck—from a neighbor family who couldn’t keep her. She had been bounced around from house to house for her entire year-and-a-half of life up to that point and deserved a forever home. Not a day goes by that I’m not deeply grateful that we said yes.
In the time since, we’ve all done a lot of learning. We have had to learn Huck’s quirks and personality, and Huck has had to learn our expectations and house rules. In spite of her uncertain and unsettled past, she’s learned very quickly and is such a loving, funny, loyal girl. We couldn’t ask for better.
One of the “final frontiers” of Huck’s training is impulse control outdoors. Nine times out of ten she’s figured out the boundaries of our yard and follows the lead of our older dog in staying within them, patrolling them. She’s a natural watchdog and has taken to the role very well.
But every once in a while…
It might be an irresistible scent, or the sight of a deer, raccoon, or neighbor through the trees…and she’s off like a shot into the woods. She’s getting better at coming back on her own, but sometimes she gets so caught up in the excitement that she finds herself all turned around, and I have to go and retrieve her from whatever mess she’s gotten herself into.
Argh.
Today, I’d had a bit of a rough morning. Stress, pent-up emotions, frustrations. Spent a few hours just trying to sort myself out: yoga, a good breakfast, untangling some knots. But just when I thought I was ready to reset and handle the day…Huck heard a sound next door, and she vanished.
ARGH.
So off I went, following her. Calling her name. Picking my way down an overgrown trail I keep meaning to manicure dressed in entirely the wrong clothes, heavy blackberry canes grabbing at my bare knees and ankles and the nice shirt I had stupidly put on right before this little incident.
ARGH!!
I confess—not proud of it—I cried. I was just too frustrated. I snuffled and huffled and blubbed through the whole thing, following my wayward dog through the woods until I finally found her, looking a little sheepish with mud up to her elbows. She had taken the opportunity to ignore whatever sound she had heard and go wading in the nearby pond, instead. Fun.
I’m learning to swallow my frustrations in those moments, to lead her home without letting her see how upset I might be. I want her to associate “going home” with peace and comfort and love, not anger. But once she was safely back indoors, I sat on the patio to catch my breath and I ranted and seethed for a little bit. My legs were all scratched up and there was a hole in the nice shirt I had stupidly put on. The whole thing felt like such an immediate insult after how hard I had worked to get myself back on track that day.
To God, I posed the elegant question: What the hell was that about?!
Lucky for me, the answer returned so quick and clear I would have laughed out loud if I wasn’t still so winded:
It’s me, you see. I am the wayward pup with mud on my paws.
I’m always tearing off into the woods after something, ignoring God’s voice calling my name and then getting myself lost in the trees. I wander, I get distracted, and then I realize I’ve strayed too far. I usually know my way home, but in the chaos of my stress and excitement I forget, and have to wait for Him to come and find me and bring me home. Every. Single. Time.
But miraculously, He does. He cleans off my muddy paws with gentle hands, tells me He’s happy to see me safe and sound, and doesn’t make me feel ashamed for being so foolish. For learning seemingly nothing for next time. For always making the same mistakes and getting lost in the same ways.
He knows my limitations and my weaknesses and He loves me anyway.
I’m the first to admit that not every bad experience or minor inconvenience carries a theological lesson. Stuff happens. But this time it did. And as I snuggle my wayward pup today, telling her how glad I am that she’s safe and sound, I will remember the one that lives in me, too. And I will be grateful for her muddy paws.
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Love this!!!!
Aye, yai yai! Seems our best learning experiences come under stress! And best facilitated by a gentle helping hand perhaps...