(I wrote this about a year ago. Since today is election day, I thought we might like something to distract us.)
The information I am about to give you will only be useful to you if you are ever a Jeopardy contestant.
I would hope that at least three-quarters of Americans could easily find Italy on a map. We will start there. To the east of Italy lies the Adriatic Sea. Halfway down Italy’s boot cross the Adriatic Sea heading east, you come to the nation of Croatia. Its shape reminds me of a comma. Almost to the end of the pointy part is the county of Dalmatia. The county seat is Split. My first question was, “Split into what?” Then I noticed it was Split, not split. That is of no importance in my writing today, but I couldn’t help myself since we were in the neighborhood.
Dalmatia is vital in this writing because the county is believed to be the originating location of a breed of dogs, Dalmatian. You know, the fire truck dog, Sparky.
For years Jan and I put off getting a family dog. Not that we did not like dogs, we just had a lifestyle and neighborhood, making owning any pet difficult. And, besides, we already had three kids. At Christmas in Drew’s junior year of high school, we relented and gave him a Dalmatian puppy. Drew was ecstatic! He named the puppy Nicklaus, for St Nicklaus. Nicklaus quickly became Nick. Drew promptly grew out of his “ecstatic” state of mind, but Nick never did. That dog loved to run! Chasing was even more fun. Nick had no idea of where home was; his family was everywhere, anywhere. I believe the whole world was his backyard.
In an attempt to corral Nick, I installed an “invisible fence.” I put up all the little flags and walked Nick inside the zone, letting him get shocked a few times. The fence worked until another dog came through our yard. Nick and the visitor had a great time playing. The visitor moved on, and Nick ran to the edge of the shock. Longingly his eyes followed the disappearing dog. Finally, Nick turned and started back to the house. After a few steps, he stopped, turned and watched, and then started running. With only a small yelp, Nick blasted his way through the shock zone and never looked back. Later that evening, when he grew hungry and night began to fold up the day, Nick came trotting back. When approaching the shock zone, Nick danced around just outside the invisible fence. He just could not bring himself to endure the shock to get back where he longed to be.
I eventually removed the threat by turning off the fence to get him home.
After that first adventure outside the shock, when Nick felt the urge to run, he hit the fence at full speed and then waited for me to turn off the invisible wall so he could return. At that moment, I became his pet. He owned me. A couple of years later, Drew left for college, but Nick did not go. It was then that I realized Jan and I had been right. We didn’t have the lifestyle or temperament to be pet owners.
Nick stayed part of our family until he had cancer several years later. Drew was married and in his second year of Seminary when Nick died.
God is not like me. He does not turn off my conscious, so I can quietly return to His back yard. I have to speak to God and tell Him I was wrong, and He was right. That’s painful. I don’t care much for admitting I’m wrong. I don’t mind saying He is right; I just hate saying, “I am wrong.” It’s embarrassing, humiliating, and damages my self-esteem. It is in this dilemma I begin to add the “small print” to His bold print. He declares his love for me. I join Him in expressing my love for me. I’m afraid that is the most significant aspect of God and I have in common, we both love me. That sounds like it ought to work well for both of us, but it does not. It is chaotic and corrosive. Will I ever learn to stay in the back yard? Can I be trained to love Him with the devotion with which He loves me?
Reviewing my actions and attitudes, I admit life is better in His love. Yet, I know myself well enough to understand that, at some point, I will choose to pursue what I love over His love. At the same time, God never changes His attraction to me.
This is not all there is to God’s grace, but it is a significant portion of His display of unwarranted favor to me.
Photo – That’s Nick photo bombing my grandson’s, Colon, photoshoot.
Baldwin Heirlooms 