Spoiled Dogs

We have two dogs, Jonah (the black one), and Nixza (the blonde). They are both spoiled. I freely admit that. They both get dinner at 8pm (the good stuff, cheap dog food gives 'em gas!), as well as various treats throughout the day. They have a big yard to run around in and nice beds to sleep on---mine during the day! They are both cuddled when they want to be, and petted or scratched and given lots of praise. Their attitudes toward their identical situations is quite different, however.

We got Jonah when he was 8 months old, and ours was his fourth home. I don't think that he was necessarily abused where he was, but he definitely was not afforded the lifestyle he now leads. There were a couple of young boys at one home he had, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't treated very gently when he was small. The last place Jonah was before we got him, he lived with a woman who had an overweight dog. Though he was still a puppy, she still just fed him her dog's diet food. He was so very hungry all the time when he came to live with us! He was also very nervous about us leaving him, and about going to either of our parents' homes. He was afraid of being left again, and changing homes again. After 7 years, though, he seems to have settled down, and is quite secure in his position in the family. He tries very hard to be a good dog, and is successful. He comes when called, he doesn't get into what isn't his, and is gentle and sweet. He even obeys when it is quite obvious that it goes against what he wants to do. For example...bath time!

Nixza's story is a little different. We took her home when she was about 6 weeks old, and all she has ever known is the posh life she now leads. As a result she is always looking for the opportunity to take advantage of the situation. If food is mistakenly left on the counter when we leave the house, she helps herself. If the kitchen trash smells enticing, she's on it. She barks. A lot. All of the time. Okay, realistically, she couldn't bark all the time, but she does spend way too much time on the subject. And she's not very obedient. If you call her she may come, if she feels like it, or if she thinks there is something in it for her (treat!). She is like a 93lb strong willed child. If she doesn't want to, she will fight and flail and try to get away. For example...bath time! If she wasn't so very sweet, it would be way to easy just to get rid of her. But, she is just that sweet.

Jonah knows what is out there, and is appreciative of his life now. Nixza just thinks that this is the way things are. I thought of Jonah in Sunday school this morning, when one of the older ladies commented that she viewed any trial she may be going through as readying her for heaven. Job said that after the trials he was enduring were through, he would be as gold, precious for his God. Nothing can make us deserve heaven, and sometimes we take our assurance of our final home for granted. God can allow things in our lives that will cause our appreciation of his gift to us to mature, to soften our hearts to absorb the greatness of what He really did for us.

Freddy

Freddy Tourney. Six years old, fiery red hair and a multitude of freckles. A sweet, boisterous child, not obnoxious, but just rambunctious, and always needing a little extra attention. I remember him stomping around one night, announcing to all and sundry, "I have new boots! See my snow boots?" You maybe didn't know this kid's name but you knew all about his boots!
I would give the Bible lesson, occasionally, and upon giving the invitation, Freddy would always raise his hand. When taking him aside, he wouldn't really answer any questions that were asked him; instead he would babble on about whatever was on his fresh, young mind. It could have been school, his family, or a bug that he had seen. Whatever came to him. But never did he stop and ask Jesus to come into his heart.
On my way home from school one afternoon in early March, my dad mentioned he'd read in the paper that day that something had happened to one if the kids in our church's AWANA club. I knew instantly in my gut that it was Freddy. My heart raced all the way home, though my dad didn't. Finally, I had the paper in my hands. It took a few times reading through the story to absorb what had happened. Freddy and his older sister had been left in the care of a neighbor while their parents went to work. This sitter had taken a shovel, and beat little Freddy's head in, and then went on to avail himself of the sister's young body. Freddy's was the first funeral I had ever attended. I had just turned sixteen a few days earlier. I was fine until the part where everyone walks by the casket. That is when I cried. It was his face, his body lying there, but it wasn't him. He didn't "look natural", he looked plastic.
I worried quite a bit in the days and weeks following. There were several of the AWANA workers at the funeral, and the other ladies who worked with Freddy and knew him were so sure of his place in heaven. But I wasn't convinced. Each time he'd come forward to talk after a Bible story had ended, not in him making a decision for Jesus, but in just chattering about everything else. I worried for his sweet soul, and also for myself. I confusedly thought that since I hadn't gotten a decision out of him, his blood was on my hands. I'm not sure where I got this faulty idea, but it troubled me for quite some time.
It wasn't until many years later that the truth dawned on me. I had done my job, I had told him of Jesus, and shown him attention and love, and listened to him. I now also see that his big, sweet heart had not yet reached the age of accountability. This is what my coworkers understood at the time of his death. This age is different for each person, but those whose lives expire not having met it, are automatically welcomed into heaven. Freddy's need for contact caused him to raise his hand to talk to me, but he was unable to actually identify his need for the Savior. He didn't yet recognize his sin nature, his sense of right and wrong, and therefore wouldn't be held accountable for his wrongdoing. My heart mourns for a little boy who was robbed of a chance to grow up. And yet it is at peace, knowing that when I make my journey to heaven, Freddy will be waiting to greet me.....maybe he'll be wearing new boots!

Mrs. Job

Job's wife is one of the more misunderstood and, I think, sympathetic characters in the Bible. People berate her as an unsupportive wife, while failing to realize that in this tug-of-war on her husband's life, she was collateral damage. It wasn't just Job, but she also lost all of her children in one fell swoop. She, as well as Job, went from being a person of wealth and stature in the community, to having lost everything. And none of this was any more her fault than it was Job's. Plus, you think Job's friends were bad, men can't hold a candle to women in the "catty" department. You know she had the village women tearing her apart, both to her face and at the well behind her back. On top of all this, her husband, a good and upright man, the one she loved more than anything, was suffering horribly. He was aching physically, emotionally, and spiritually. He was wholly and thoroughly miserable, and there wasn't a thing she could do about it.

She asked her husband, "Dost thou still retain thine integrity?" In asking this she was verifying that his faith, in death, would send him to Abraham's Bosom, where all this suffering would cease to exist. A sure and quick way for this to happen would be for him to curse God. Not a brilliant idea, perhaps, but to her strained heart and mind, it made sense at the time. She could not do anything to end Job's suffering, so she begged of him to end his turmoil in the quickest way she could think. It was not her hatred of God, but her love for her husband that drove her to suggest such drastic mesasures. So please, go a little easy on poor Mrs. Job, a good woman who loved God, her husband, and her family.

Why?

Occasionally we find an injured or baby bird in the back yard. I give it food and water and try to make it as comfortable as possible until I can take it to a vet clinic that accepts wild animals. Once I've dropped the little guy off, I decide to believe that he will get better. Broken bones will be healed, and babies will grow to a full healthy adulthood, with the ultimate release into the wild. A little unrealistic, maybe but a healthy denial for me. A couple of weeks after one such incident, while driving through my neighborhood on my way to the store, I noticed a bird hopping around on the street and sidewalk. It was conspicuous by its not flying. This bothered me, but I made myself not stop to chase it around, catch and "fix" this apparently wounded bird; knowing full well that its life was in danger, if not imminently, at least eventually. I know that this is the normal and natural way of things, the circle of life, and all that, but still the awareness of this little creature's situation brought tears to my eyes. "God, why did you make me this way? Why did you make me to care about these little creatures so much?" It seemed to me that I would be better off if I wouldn't notice, much less care about the life and times of a robin.

"Well," I heard Him reply, "I made you like me."