Spencer's Mom

Except a kernel of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.

Five Hard Lessons for the Christian (or Read the Fine Print)

Enter by the narrow gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leads to destruction, and there are many who go in by it. Because narrow is the gate and difficult is the way which leads to life, and there are few who find it. Matthew 7:13-14

                I feel like I say this a lot lately, “Life is hard. It’s supposed to be.” I say it to crowds, or friends or sometimes strangers. I would not have to say this in most other countries except maybe France, because they know this already. And sometimes I get this back: Blink. Blink. Respectful silence. I know they want to argue. Many know it can be difficult, but most do not agree that it should be. In fact, our culture sets comfort as a priority.

             Okay, I admit I like comfort too. I love my flannel sheets in winter, and I secretly covet those car-starter-uppers on days when snow and wind make just a short walk to the driveway feel like an arctic trek. But I also have learned the benefit of being challenged – at work, at home, in church. Here is where Pride collides with our incompetence or sometimes laziness, where a mirror is held up to self-righteousness and we are uncovered. Our first instinct is to cover and deflect. We get angry, petulant. “I have my rights.” Well, actually you don’t.

Hard Lesson #1. God’s kingdom is not a democracy.

           There are no rights for God’s children because it is an unimaginable privilege and undeserved gift to even know Him, let alone be “joint heirs” to all that is His. Leave your rights at the foot of the cross and make sure you read this disclaimer carefully:

And if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with him in order that we may also be glorified with him. Romans 8:17

           Ah, the hard part!

Hard Lesson #2: You will suffer if you follow Christ. No sissies allowed. Read this too:

Count it all joy, my brothers,[ when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:2-4

            Don’t worry – be happy! We get a variety of trials and they are good for us, because there is no other way to have a faith that is real and unshakeable. And then you get to be perfect, complete, lacking NOTHING. Wow! But first, the fire…

Hard Lesson #3 God does always answer prayer, but sometimes He says No.

           He’s God. He can do whatever He wants and it’s always right and for our good.

Hard Lesson #4 You have to love everyone. E-ver-y-one! No exceptions.

           In fact, God will intentionally bring you unlovables, all those people you really can’t stand. (refer back to Hard Lesson #2).

Hard Lesson #5 It’s not fair.

So the last will be first, and the first last. For many are called, but few chosen. Matthew 20:16 

            Back to the narrow gate. It’s not that Jesus doesn’t want us all crushing the gate, or having to create a wait-list because the line is so long. Jesus really is calling, but few are answering this call. They hear the call, but opt out of the “difficult” part. We want results, guarantees, position. On this side of heaven, there is no reward. Instead you will likely be laughed at, scorned as foolish or ludicrous.

            You don’t mean to tell me that you believe the whole Bible? My mother would ask, one eyebrow raised as if to coach me away from saying something she considered idiotic.

            Yes, I would say. The whole thing. Because it’s not just a book, it is life, from the Giver of Life.

            But what about Blessing? The Promises? Ah yes – lots of those. But read the fine print…

And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are called according to his purpose. Romans 8:28 

            Do you love me? Jesus asked this of Peter three times. Exasperated, Peter finally said, “Lord, you know all things.” He does, He knows what is love and what is just lip-service or lukewarm compliance.

            Called according to His purpose. What if His purpose for my life is obscurity? Or more humiliating than that – a laughing stock, an offense? Elisabeth Elliot noted:

Did the earthly life of our Lord appear to be a thundering success? Would the statistics of souls won, crowds made into fruitful disciples, sermons heeded, commands obeyed, be impressive? Hardly.

            At the foot of the cross, there is a lot of room. There’s no box seats, or roped off sections. It’s you, it’s me, staring into this unfathomable love despite the seeds of evil that are implanted deep in every heart. He is calling me from death to life, into a love I am incapable of but for His immeasurable grace. 

            Follow me. The way is difficult, uncertain. I stumble, waver or sometimes stop dead in my tracks. Which way now?

Jesus Christ had to fathom every sin and every sorrow man could experience, and that is what makes Him seem strange. When we see Him in this aspect we do not know Him, we do not recognize one feature of His life, and we do not know how to begin to follow Him. – Oswald Chambers

            There are times where nothing is familiar. No GPS.

And your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it,” when you turn to the right or when you turn to the left. Isaiah 30:21

            God is there, always. Even in the dark, or when the pain is so loud you can’t hear him. Jehovah Shammah: “the Lord is there.” And I am His, the only one that I care to please, and He will lead me according to HIS purpose. Then one day, I will meet him at the narrow gate. I don’t know for sure, but I think Jesus will be there with a huge smile, holding it open just for us. I hope I see you there too, as we enter into the fullness of His joy and glory. Then real life, the one we were made for from the start, will begin.

 

 When Love Was Slain by Selah – Enjoy!

 https://youtu.be/6mcxNJ1BFLU

 

 

Happy New Day

                                          Quincy waving hello from a tuk-tuk

          

                The rooster crowed into the darkness around me. I squinted at my phone – 2:30 am. I could hear the music outside still playing, hints of western pop with a Khmer karaoke overlay which sounded not as bad as you’d imagine, or maybe I was just amused. My New Year was ringing in, even though I was too exhausted to stay awake until midnight, despite the neighborhood dogs barking into the thick smoky Cambodian air. Our “deranged rooster” as my daughter-in-law aptly named him, was heralding 2020 a bit early, but I lay awake now, fully alert to all of the unfamiliar sounds around me. At a time when most people. including me, are prone to looking ahead – to a new year, new start, new diet, I lingered in the moment, letting my senses capture the strange land around me. My granddaughter’s rhythmic breathing beside me brought an other-worldly peace beneath the din and revelry outside the window. 

            We talk a lot about vision and that’s not a bad thing. Humans need hope just to survive. Soldiers dream of the girl at home, of mom’s baking while the earth turns to fire around them. The castaway hopes for a ship passing by. Maybe this year you want a new job, a husband or health. The ability to dream, to look ahead is God-given. It is the mark that faith aims at. But it is not faith.

            Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. Hebrews 11:1

            Some translations use the word assurance instead of substance. That means we already know that we have what we hope for. It is a robust, whole and complete hope, not a desperate or vague hope. It is knowing that whether we are in Cambodia or Cape Cod, we are still sojourners. We are not there yet; this is not our home. We are assured of that and we can not only rest in that, we can live fully and walk with purpose and conviction because we know where we are going. Our vision? Bringing others along. Using our God-given gifts to point them to Jesus. the Fountain of Life, so that they need nothing more along the Way.

            But whoever drinks of the water that I shall give him will never thirst. But the water that I shall give him will become in him a fountain of water springing up into everlasting life.” John 4:14

            “Whoever.” Malaysians, Cambodians, Koreans, Chinese, Nepalese, Iranians, West Africans, Pakistani. I was privileged to worship Jesus alongside all of these nationalities while I was vising my son and his family over Christmas but in God’s eyes we are just His kids, with all of the stumbling and wandering tendencies that children have. We don’t need a vision, or even a plan. We need to come to Him daily, sometimes moment to moment – and never thirst.

            “I’ve learned to stop looking ahead,” a friend told me recently. She and her husband have been side by side in the trenches ever since his cancer diagnosis several months ago. “I’ve got today, and that is enough. I just trust God with the rest.” There was so much wisdom in that, for all of us. That’s what got me thinking about the moment, how many God has hidden in each day, like He’s saying, “Look! Over here!” Use your eyes and ears and hands and heart right here, right now.
           For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. John 1:14(ESV)

            Everlasting, eternal grace.

            I am 63. There is a lot more road behind me than before me. Maybe that’s one reason why I can linger now in the priceless moments God gives me. An out of sync rooster, watching my grandchildren play with children they can’t understand but each knowing the universal language of laughter, or singing Feliz Navidad in a Cambodian church (they really love this song for some reason) and the joy we share that transcends culture.

            All these people died in faith, without having received the things they were promised. However, they saw them and welcomed them from afar. And they acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. Hebrews 11:1           

            We already have everything we need to make it to 2021, and each year after, until God’s children pass through the heavenly gates. But it’s what we do along the way that matters most. Let’s pray God opens our eyes to the moment, so we can love those He brings our way, and show them the way home – step by step, grace upon grace.

            Happy 2020 friends – and Happy Sunday or whatever day you’re in. May the road lead you to Christ Jesus, Fountain of Everlasting Life, and His hidden treasure along the Way.

 

(Below is clip of children playing:)

IMG_1829

 

 

The Legend of Mrs. Santa

Hmmm…you can buy this costume on Amazon.

“There she goes! There she goes!” my father yelled as he pointed up towards the roof. It was freezing out, we had no coats on but it didn’t matter. A grown man and three or four kids had just spilled out onto the lawn on a Christmas Eve, and stood squinting up into the sky. And I swear, to this very day, that I saw the hem of a huge red skirt slipping over the crest of the roof. It was, of course, Mrs. Santa Claus.

                   Years later, my mom took credit for inventing Mrs. Santa, for leaving the basket of new pajamas on the front step, ringing the doorbell then running at break-neck speed around the house, through the back door and coming up behind us all as we ran to the door. It was the only time of year that my father read the Bible to us, from Luke, the birth of Jesus. And it was the perfect opportunity for my mom to make a run for it. I doubt we ever heard the end of the story, but it was a great way to get your kids into their pajamas on Christmas Eve.

                    It never made sense that it was my mother. She was the student, the bookworm, snapping us all to our senses. In my mind, her brows are terminally furrowed and I am in trouble or close to it. My father was a 5 year old stuck in a suit with a briefcase. I think that’s why he liked to drink, because he could bust loose, be could become what he yearned to be at the moment; a clown, a cowboy, a monster. At night he became a huge wrestling machine, rolling and growling on the living room floor while we screamed and giggled, while my mother sat at the kitchen window, smoking another cigarette. When she looked out of the window, her brows went up, like she was  waiting to be rescued.

                    I took a poll and all of my siblings, including me kept Mrs. Santa alive. For me, it was long after I put Santa to rest. My last son, Jake, never knew Santa. I told him it was me that put those presents under the tree. It was work and a paycheck. But I decided Mrs. Santa had a practical use and no other kid, in my lifetime, ever reported her ringing their doorbell. She became family.

                    By then I knew Jesus and He was much better than Santa. No one would ever tell me that they made him up. I learned the end of Luke; that He was more than a baby in a Woolworth’s crèche, that he became a man just so he could die for us. And the greatest joy and wonder of all; He could actually live within someone like me. In the same mysterious splendor that He came to earth, through a young girl in a dirty barn, He came to me one night 32 years ago. The baby really came to rescue us. I wish my mom had known that all those years ago.

                    When my brother died, my dad drank to forget, and the child inside died too. We still pulled off Mrs. Santa, until we all went off to different places and it was more sad to remember the wonder and laughter, the days of child-like hope. We had our own kids and I did plenty of tearing over snow and ice to get from the basket of new jammies on the front porch to the back door in time. Eventually they learned the truth. But I loved standing in the Cape Cod cold with my kids, our breath billowing huge puffs of steam, yelling, “There she goes!” as they peered up into the black winter sky.

                    I wonder if the shepherds that saw the angels rip through the silent night, God’s glory spilling out onto the dark earth, if they forever stood watching after that, – looking for maybe a wing, a golden hem of a robe, just a sprinkle of light or a faint song through the stars. I wish my dad had known that the child-like wonder can be real, that Jesus wants us that way.

                    According to my daughter-in-laws, the legend of Mrs. Santa has made it to the next generation, as far away as Malaysia! But it’s more for fun, honoring a peculiar family tradition. Like me, they retired Santa, and gave Jesus center stage. And I think Jesus would be right in the middle of it all; gingerbread houses and hanging stockings and singing songs, even shouting, “There she goes!” and especially the love in a mom or dad that tucks a child in at night. It might remind Him of His mom, that cold night, the love in her eyes and the love that sent Him from heaven straight to us.

                  We were worth all that to Him – the cold barn, the cross, the empty tomb. It was all His idea. It’s the most magnificent Christmas gift, every single day of the year. Christ in us – the hope of glory, a hope that is eternal.

Luke 2:11-14 (NLT)

The Savior—yes, the Messiah, the Lord—has been born today in Bethlehem, the city of David!  And you will recognize him by this sign: You will find a baby wrapped snugly in strips of cloth, lying in a manger.”

Suddenly, the angel was joined by a vast host of others—the armies of heaven—praising God and saying,

“Glory to God in highest heaven,

and peace on earth to those with whom God is pleased.”

 May you know the wonder of His love and the glory of His salvation this Christmas and forever!

 

 *****Beautiful song: “Winter Snow”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xpHiAmL8-b0

And A Lot of Patience

Waiting…

 

If you are really a Cape Codder, you will never admit that the weather is good – at least without adding a disclaimer like, “What a beautiful day! But tomorrow it’s supposed to rain/snow/hail…” True to my 40 years of being what is called a “wash-a-shore” on this sand bar, I will declare that this winter was really…not bad. We had a couple of slushy snowfalls and dustings, some frigid days but hey, it is New England. However, the spring seems to be stuck in March, reluctantly edging over the 40’s, maybe popping into the 50’s on a rare occasion. This IS the Cape, where the icy Atlantic grips 100 miles of shore, stalling out the release of new life from trees and flowers that are clamped down, waiting.

            Forty years ago almost to this day, a young woman left New Jersey, which had exploded in vibrant color and life, and chugged north in a rusted out Volkswagen bus. A steamer trunk with all she owned was shoved into the back with some peacock feathers thrown on top. A down sleeping bag that had been well used for several years was tossed in last minute, just in case.

            She had only been to Cape Cod once, a few weeks earlier in March, and it was cold, sleeting. “Sea frost” someone called it and it sounded mystical and poetic which drew her even more. She crossed the bridge over the canal somewhere in the afternoon and drove until she could find the ocean, then parked overlooking the gray green palette of sea, dotted with whitecaps, stretching into the empty horizon and she felt like she had arrived. She took out her notebook and wrote. But she became aware of a chilling wet cold, much colder than New Jersey and beyond the shelter that the old bus and sleeping bag would provide, so she pushed on – to Wellfleet. There, kismet led her to a tiny cottage near the bay. There was no heat or hot water, but a small wood stove would warm up the little room quickly and the stove could heat up a pan of water for bathing. As the sky turned dark, the peepers rang out across the marsh. Spring is here, they said. Close, anyway. Close enough, I thought, as I pulled the dirty sleeping bag over my head.

            Forty years. I am 63 now, and as I look back to that strange girl, I can hear the peepers and smell the salt mixed with pine on the breeze coming up over the marsh. I can remember how my heart needed to run, to keep looking, and the temporary peace I found next to the ocean, with the world and all of it’s confusion behind me. I don’t remember feeling cold, or dirty or worried at all – I had enough money for beer and cigarettes. I had no phone so I would rely on the mail and that was sufficient for someone who really just wanted to be left alone. Yet I craved more than I had. I craved a higher place than survival, a wider purpose – to be filled with more than anger, doubt and a prevailing sense of brokenness.  Maybe it’s here, I would think, looking out over the bay.  Something that could grow and thrive. I wanted to trust in Hope, but Jack Daniels was safer, easier.

            Seven years later, I ran into Jesus. I’d like to say that He wrapped His arms around me and gave me a big bear hug, but that’s not at all how it went. First, I had to die. And since I was literally almost dead from doing things my way, it wasn’t a big stretch to surrender my will, my pride and my mess.

“Listen carefully: Unless a grain of wheat is buried in the ground, dead to the world, it is never any more than a grain of wheat. But if it is buried, it sprouts and reproduces itself many times over. In the same way, anyone who holds on to life just as it is destroys that life. But if you let it go, reckless in your love, you’ll have it forever, real and eternal. John 12:24-25 (MSG)  

              It takes some time for things to grow. At the jail every week I talk to the ladies in green or yellow jumpsuits. Sometimes I get a room full of silence. The expressions can run from bland civility to deadpan to rolling eyes, smirking or smoldering contempt. But the best part of it all is the day I see a spark – so small, you would miss it if you weren’t paying attention. It’s in the eyes and it’s called Hope. And I know once I see the spark, God can build a fire.

            “The cross,” I said, “is a place that represents death and the darkest despair yet also leads the way to hope and freedom and new life.” When I asked for their thoughts, one young woman leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling.

            “This is really deep,” she said and a low rumble of acknowledgement went around the room. She was so right. This truth must penetrate right to the core of our soul. There it will take root, and if we are patient, something wondrous will begin to grow.

            My grandson Eli discovered this first hand after I gave him a terrarium for Christmas. On the cover, you see a tropical paradise bursting from a transparent vase. What you get is a bag a dirt and a small plastic container. A four-year-old has faith to move mountains, but it’s also short-lived. After a few days, he forgot about the dirt. Then a couple of weeks later I got a Facetime call.

“Ama! ” he shouted, his little body trembling with excitement, “LOOK!”

And there it was – well, not exactly paradise, more like ordinary grass, but it was green and growing and so amazing he could barely speak. When I asked him what the secret was, he told me proudly, “A little light, a little water, and a LOT of patience!” Ah, patience!

            Funny that I chose a Cape Cod April as my season to land here. I was as cold and unfriendly as the unforgiving earth. But there was promise just below the surface. I wonder…does Jesus see the small seed of Hope beneath the crusted heart? Maybe He put it there long ago, and is just waiting. Sometimes I think he calls us right to the crossroads of Nowhere-Left-To-Go and Nothing-To-Lose. Let it go – the life that is mine to begin with. Give it to me and I will breathe on it and you will really live.

            I heard the peepers last week, and something in my heart leapt. The young woman I can still see in my mind is an old woman now with joints that are failing and silver strands through my hair. Someone asked me if I was in remission last week, and it took me a moment to realize she meant from cancer. “Well, I’m still here!” I answered. But I thought of another Remission – the forgiveness of my sins, the cancelled debt that was paid for in blood. As I walk through a life that flourishes with the beauty of a heavenly hope, may I never forget the cross, and the deep, unsearchable Love that gave me life, real life.  And the best is yet to come.

Therefore, we who have fled to him for refuge can have great confidence as we hold to the hope that lies before us.  This hope is a strong and trustworthy anchor for our souls.It leads us through the curtain into God’s inner sanctuary. Hebrews 6:18-19

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XQy4NUZKIeM

 

 

 

Feeling Young Again

*** I am so pleased to once again, share a  post with you from my son and favorite guest blogger, Miles Macleod. It is a beautiful and insightful take on Matthew 18:3. You can follow his family blog on macleodsonthemove.weebly.com. Enjoy!

 

Can you find the monkey?

 

So it’s been about six weeks in Malaysia and I’m feeling young again. But don’t get too jealous. I’m not talking about the grip-life-by-the-ears-and-drive-off-into-the-sunset-with-reckless-abandon type of young; it’s more like the I-can’t-read-this-menu-do-you-have-any-photos-of-your-food-so-I-can-point-to-the-pictures young.

It’s infuriating at times and good for a few laughs at others, but mostly it’s just embarrassing. Like the time I couldn’t figure out how to turn the water back on in my house and had to seek my neighbor’s help, or the time I drove down the wrong side of the road (they drive on the left here), or the time I did that again, or the times I pick up Quincy from daycare and can’t understand what his teacher is asking me to do so I just smile and nod and leave and don’t do what they ask, or the time I accidentally drank pond water from a spigot and the nearby guards laughed before showing me how to get filtered water, or how it’s taken me two weeks (and counting) to replace the only lightbulb in my bathroom (Erin showers in the dark every morning), or how I sometimes say “Good morning” (“salamat pagi”) to my neighbors when I see them walking in the evening (“salamat petang”).

Whatever confidence I had gained as a successful member of society while living in the States has quickly disappeared. Now, I’m more unsure, more unaware, and more pensive. More child-like.

There is a verse in the Bible, somewhere in Matthew, where Jesus tells a bunch of people to be more like children. It will help them, He says, get into Heaven. Whenever I’ve heard this verse mentioned, I assumed he wanted us to have more faith — child-like faith — a faith rooted in trust and untainted by the limitations of empirical evidence and the cynicism of adulthood.

Now, though, I’m thinking I had it wrong. Why would He want us to have the same type of faith that led me to put my trust and my bloody teeth and my cookies and milk into appeasing some mythological creature (see tooth fairy) or cultural apparition (see Santa)? That can’t be the same faith that He wants us to have, right? I would think He wants a more adult-like faith than that, one that has been tested and refined. So why be like children then? Well, in light of my six weeks in Malaysia, I’m thinking what Jesus likes so much about children isn’t so much their faith; it’s their helplessness.

I think about Quincy and his own helplessness too. At one years old, he relies on me for pretty much everything and because I come through more often than not, his love and his trust for me grows. I’m there to carry him on my shoulders when he tires and grab him from his crib when he wakes. To kiss his boo-boos and read his books; to teach him boundaries and open his doors. To him, I am everything. My identity — in his eyes — is defined by his own limitations.

And so it goes with world travel. For those who have yet to do it, I strongly encourage you to give it a try. There are numerous benefits, but perhaps none more so than the spiritual clarity that comes with it. My can-do American attitude has quickly been replaced by a please-help Malaysian posture. And through this transition and in the midst of my helplessness, my Father’s identity has been redefined by my own limitations. He is made strong in my weakness. My place in this crazy, amazing world has never been more clear. I am child-like. But for my Father, that’s okay.

Quincy in Cambodia making a new friend

 

Just a Dog (Not a Dog Spelled Backwards)

Yet God has made everything beautiful for its own time. He has planted eternity in the human heart, but even so, people cannot see the whole scope of God’s work from beginning to end. Ecclesiastes 3:11 NLT

            Georgia is a dog.

            Georgia is my new dog. She’s as sweet as a Georgia peach in June and already loves me, but I’m pretty sure it’s because I feed her, pet her and take her for walks. In other words, she’s just a dog. She’s not my child, so please don’t call me her parent. Her parents are two dogs of an undetermined, un-designer mix, which I shouldn’t have to explain.

            I’ve noticed a trend in several areas of our culture where we are shifting our natural affections for weird ones, hence the crop of doggy shops that are abounding. Don’t tell me we are in a recession if stores like Bloomingtails or Posh Puppy Boutique prosper. Women at work whip out their phones to show pictures of their “grand-dogs.” This new obsession has been tagged “replacement – syndrome,” a mostly millennial craze which grossed 4 billion last year on such pet essentials as strollers and pet-slings. One article I read showed a young man licking his cat with a rubber tongue.

            I am not without compassion. We yearn for what we feel we should have but don’t. Ever since I put down my sweet Rosie two years ago I have been perusing the internet for a new friend, “one with four feet” as my son Jake announced when he was five and tired of burying goldfish. It seems like a simple prerequisite but I soon learned that the world of dog ownership has morphed into an exclusive culture. Even if you can afford $2000 for a purebred, you may not be worthy of one.

            I began to wonder if I was a good enough human to adopt a mutt. One turned me away scornfully when I told them, yes, I did have to work. Finally I found Georgia, named after her birthplace. I was sweating the adoption a little because I don’t let my pets on the furniture to “snuggle” – I don’t care if it is their forever home, they will be forever on the floor. And if they need a bath there’s the garden hose, although they get the senior fluff and puff at Petsmart should they live that long. But the southern rescue that released her to me didn’t sound like they cared about that. Different culture. I doubt they have a Bloomingtails.

            Longing. Barren women fasten upon a pregnant mother or a newborn cry. Yearning for approval is soothed by a bunch of letters after a name or the accouterments of a fat paycheck. The bottle of wine brings a reliable comfort, so does the little pill for “my anxiety,” as my patients refer to it. Or maybe it’s the boy/girlfriend that really, really loves you…for now. C.S. Lewis wrote:

“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things – the beauty, the memory of our own past – are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself, they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshippers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.”

            Solomon wisely noted that eternity is planted in each human heart. We instinctively long for what we can’t see. So we fashion a substitute, a golden calf. We lose hope, or just patience. The gifts which God delights in giving to His children become objects of worship or even worse, discarded as cheap arcade tokens. We want more, bigger, shinier and a short cut to get it. The longing becomes bondage. 

And my God will supply all your needs according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. Philippians 4:9

            His riches in glory. Eternal life. Heaven. If you are a Christian, then you know this is not our home. We are sojourners, so we travel light and hold everything loosely, especially pets. I have learned that even the things we think are secure may not be. Anyone who has picked out their child’s casket will agree. We know there is more than this, but we can learn to love the gifts He has placed within our reach today. And be grateful.

            If you are not a Christian, then think about the longing. God put that there. You are really longing to know Him, the one who tenderly formed you. That’s exactly why Jesus came.

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made;[a]
Marvelous are Your works,
And that my soul knows very well. Psalm 139:14

I found this on Amazon while I was looking for a ball for Georgia that she couldn’t eat:

Furbo Dog Camera: Treat Tossing, Full HD Wifi Pet Camera and 2-Way Audio, Designed for Dogs, Works with Amazon Alexa (As Seen On Ellen)

For $249, you can watch your dog on your smartphone while you’re busy at work, which you need to do a lot of because you spent $2500 for the dog and it costs another $150 a week just to keep her in doggy daycare, then there’s the toys, the accessories and the pet insurance. Furbo even spits out treats for Fido, and it has a 2-way chat and bark alert. I’m hoping it’s really a one-way chat and one-way bark. Be real. Almost 2000 people have given it four stars and it works with Alexa.

            I’m glad I have a new dog. I love my dogs and I have even suggested getting a dog to people who are profoundly grieved. They are simple and loyal creatures, an oasis of comfort when the rest of the world seems too harsh and complex. I marvel daily at God’s glorious creation, from dogs to daffodils, which are pushing through the cold dirt right now. As I look around me, I am blessed. But this is not home; the best is yet to come.

            So do not be dismayed! If you have a Furbo and a Designer Dog but still feel like something’s missing, you’re right! Jesus is saying, Hey, this way! Once you know the Creator, then all of creation makes perfect sense. And you can freely love those around you, even your pets.

            “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” – Jesus

Thanks Jesus, for a new dog, for making the journey through this life a little sweeter. You think of everything.