The least of these

My daughter Hannah (from whom I have secured permission to write this) is an animal lover. She aspires to be a veterinarian someday, is a Humane Society volunteer and has attended a veterinary camp near Cincinnati. The past few mornings I have her found running in an out of the house with cereal bowls of water for the juvenile birds that may be crippled or just unable to fly. She is trying to rescue them, despite the legion of cats in our neighborhood.

I was chuckling at her as she chased this frightened little blackbird underneath the neighbor's truck before school today. I'm thinking that "this bird has a o% chance of making it and she is going out of her way to rescue him." This despite the horrifying discovery that Bandit, our 16 month old puppy had 4 dead birds in the back yard that he was playing with and tossing in the air. We now know the origin of his bad breath.

I don't want to discourage her tender heart, but there is an element of reality that says "Stop." There is no hope, just let nature take its course and move on. Then God hit me and said "Be grateful I didn't do that."

What a thought. That despite the fact that many on this earth aren't going to make it, He poured tremendous resources into us. He gave his only Son's life for us. And the Holy Spirit has a full-time job helping us live righteous lives as He continues to call the lost to him.

This was a bit of a kick from God to the effect that there are no lost causes in His eyes. Everyone has value, and every life is precious.

I would do well to learn from a tender-hearted little girl. I seem to remember something about "out of the mouths of babes" from somewhere.

A Big Day

Saturday, August 20, was a memorable one for our household. Bandit, our 7 month-old puppy, decided to make his bid for freedom around 1 p.m. He dug under the downspout extension, and crawled out a 6-inch gap and took off. Mind you, the night before he had broken the ring that held his tag and dog license. So he was completely footloose and fancy free.

My wife called me at the office to see if I had the dog and then discovered the escape. When I arrived at home my wife, daughter and daughter's friend were out riding their bikes and calling Bandit's name.

From about 2 p.m. until 7:30 we continued looking for him, broken only long enough to attend an open house for a couple that eloped in June. As the day wore on, my attitude toward this moronic mutt became progressively less charitable, especially as I tired of sitting on a bicycle seat.

Our break came around 7 when a lady said she had seen him downtown on Front Street. I rode down and went into a restaurant to see if they had seen him. It turns out that they had seen him running in and out of traffic and tried to tie him up. When that failed, they took him to a nearby park where the Monroe Fire Department was holding a children's event. A kind fireman took him to the Humane Society, where we picked him up the next day. Many thanks to Julie and her staff at the Monroe Street Grill and the Monroe Fire Department for taking care of our wayward canine.

But as my attitude darkened, the Lord reminded me of the parable of the lost sheep in Luke 15:4: "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? I have never lost a sheep, heck, I don't even like sheep. But I do know that in the bottom of my heart, I was sick with the thought that he might be hurt, dead or taken. And I'm really glad to have him back.

If I can be that happy about my wayward dog, how much more joy is there in heaven when a wayward soul returns home? And how do I put that joy in my heart for the souls that return? That is where I need God's grace to celebrate with others. I get so caught up in my own world that I don't appreciate what God is doing around me. Just what he has done for me lately.