Me, the Dog, and Jesus

The shelter dog experience requires a great deal of patience (at least two I know of, do). Sometimes I look at this beautiful dog with some of the most aggravating quirks I have seen, and I think how I am also a mongrel. I do not fit the average design, but God chose me, just as He did you, to be who exactly we are. He has a purpose for every sort of difficulty I present to Him. Usually, I think He wants me to learn on Him to depend, instead of any faith I might place in me.

I do not run straight to Jesus as often as I should. My dog does not run to me, she creeps, or sometimes she has that sad, sad face that will break me open because, despite her craziness, I love her. She hurts me, I have scars, I had to wear a brace, she runs off where I have to go into strange territory miles away searching for her, and she does not always answer when I call. I am like this with my sweet Jesus too. He died on the cross because of me, that is some incredible injury. How much a disappointment it must be to Him, when He is certain He made it perfectly clear what is expected, and I go my own way, then creep to touch His hand, hoping He will fight my battles. Thankfully, He does not scream at me, as I sometimes do with the dog. He remembers that I am living a broken, sinful life, in a shattered sin-filled world and over and again He has mercy on me. My mercifulness leaves much to be desired with the dog, but we are working on it, and it improves in spurts and starts.