It’s eight A.M. I’ve already cleaned up three messes and I’m considering re-naming our dog Mr. Peebody or Mr. Weesburger. I’ve never had a puppy before, obviously, and I’m sure I don’t have enough of my imported Lysol wipes to make it three more days at this rate.
It’s been a little over a week since we scooped up a sick little puppy from the street and brought him into our family. And I’d love to say it’s been a wonderful experience, but sleep-depravation and constant clean-up make that a bit difficult at the moment. Still, the kids have loved having Kenobi in our family and friends with dogs say it will get better, six months from now, that is. Sigh.
Kenobi, that’s his name. Last week we watched all six Star Wars movies, hence we now have our own little Jedi. A doggie Jedi who decided to jump from our 2nd floor terrace (1st floor outside the US) on Sunday while we were gone and lived to tell the tale. Boy-tears were shed as we searched the empty terrace and neighborhood. Thankfully, he was found at the other end of the street by a neighbor and our landlord’s maid happened to see him and told us otherwise I have no idea how we would have found him.
So I have made it through an entire week of whining, cleaning, going to the vet every day (not me, but the Hubs) and getting to know this little creature. It’s hard to say if he is laid back because he’s still on a few medications. But so far our little Kenobi allows the kids to tote him around like a baby and smother him with love. Well, mostly love.
I’m still not sure if I’m a dog person, but I suppose it’s too late to turn back now. He’s been adopted into our family and he’s ours. Mess, whining and all.
And it seems a deeper illustration can be drawn from all this. Something my mind keeps going back to when I’m reaching for the Lysol, plastic gloves and paper towels for the 100th time.
There’s something about the way he was a helpless, dying and frail little thing. Then, miraculously he was given life, abundance, hope even though he did nothing to deserve any of it. Then two days later, he jumped from the terrace in search of freedom, not realizing that if left on his own in his present state he would surely die.
This dog is always trying to run, escape his crate or whatever confines we’ve given him for his own good. Kenobi and I are a bit similar I think.
Something about this last week with our new pup reminds me of grace, sacrifice, and Jesus’ love for me.
And perhaps it’s not so strange that God would use a dog, of all things, to remind me of his faithfulness during a time of soul dryness and physical exhaustion and frustration that I never seem have it all together and I just want to roll over and play dead.
With everything else going on in our lives, including the pup, I’ve felt a little undone lately and it’s all I can do to stay afloat (you could say I’m doggy paddling, perhaps? Sorry, I had to do it).
So there he is (cute, right?), my little reminder that I’m a work in progress. That we all are and even people who look like they have it all together probably don’t. That sometimes we hit the puppy pad and sometimes we don’t, but even still there is someone who loves us regardless of what we do or don’t do as the case may be (Kenobi is about 1 in 4 with hitting the puppy pad, if you were wondering). Grace abounds.
*this is my 100th post. If I wasn’t in India I’d do some sort of nifty drawing and give away some dal or chai. Too bad I’m scared of the post office here.