Adopted Mutts

We adopted two puppies from the local shelter this Christmas. They’re mutts, to be sure, with spots and stripes that, at first, were the only ways we could tell them apart. Brother and sister, she is more reserved, but will destroy any book or pair of glasses I leave within her reach. He is bulkier and a bit of a bully who will try to take away anything his sister finds. 

When I am not cleaning up messes, I look at them and think about how their lives changed when we came to the shelter. No longer in cages, they have soft beds and plenty of food and toys. Watching them run around our property, I can tell they love their new life. They’re growing up quickly. I have no idea what they will become, or how our relationship will grow, but that’s the wonder of it all.

It's Sunday, and I can’t help but look at them this morning with a more theologically reflective gaze. When I think about our coming to the shelter and bending down and opening our arms, I think of God coming to get us. Like the puppies, we did nothing to deserve God’s coming to get us. All we did was run to the open arms. That’s enough, I think. Suddenly, we no longer have to live in cages. We can run free and enjoy our new life. Yes, we, too, are mutts. No matter how hard we try to look or act otherwise, we are covered with spots and stripes that make us unique. We make messes of one kind or another, but that’s to be expected. Who knows where this new life will lead, what the relationship will bring out in us, but that’s the wonder of it all.

My wife is working with girls preparing for confirmation, and this morning’s topic is salvation. It’s a big word. People have wrestled with what salvation is and when it happened (or happens) for centuries. I believe it happened two thousand years ago, and I had nothing to do with it. God came, bent down, and opened his arms and adopted us. Because of that, we were given new lives. Who knows where the new lives will lead, how the relationship will God will change us, but that’s the joy, and wonder of this thing called faith. 

It’s enough to make me want to wag my tail.

Yard Work

Our home sits on a small plot of land with a relatively small front lawn and a wooded backyard covered with ivy. It’s easy ignore the woods and ivy and focus on the front, the part visible from the street, but I’ve recently decided to look at it all. It’ll be a big job, given the years of neglect, and it will require consistent effort over many months. As is so often the case, I can’t help but see the similarities between my home and spiritual landscapes.

Like my home, my spiritual life is not much, but it’s mine. There’s more than enough to keep me busy. There’s the side people see, and the other which is hidden. Too often, I’ve focused (unsuccessfully) on the part people see and ignored that other. “No one will see it” I’ve said to justify my apathy.

Addressing the dead trees, overgrown bushes, and incessant ivy at our house is a big job. Instead of trying to do what is needed in a weekend, I have decided to adopt the 12-step model of doing things one day at a time. I will take things slowly, but consistently. Eventually, I’ll make it from one end of the property to the other. It won’t be perfect, but I’ll make progress, and there’ll always be more to do. Still, it will be more than I’ve done.  

As I make my way through the work, I plan to think about the small, consistent steps I can take spiritually. There are dead trees, overgrown bushes, and pervasive ivy within me, as well. It’s a big job and it can fast become overwhelming, but taking it one step at a time, I can make my way through. 

In the end, there will be a clearing away and the possibility of new growth, which is all I can hope for.

Release from Captivity

My youngest daughter is taking a religion class in college. In anticipation of a test on the Old Testament (Hebrew Scriptures) this week, she asked me to explain it to her. A daunting task, I still looked forward to our time together. To prepare, I drew a diagram. (It’s what I do!) 

I knew, despite the early chapters of the Bible, it all began with the Exodus, the moment God delivered the Hebrew people from captivity. As I walked through the rest of the Bible, I saw deliverance from captivity was everywhere I looked. It seems to be what God cares most about. I found myself no longer thinking about my daughter’s upcoming test, but the ways I’ve been held captive in my life, as well as the countless ways God has sought to release me.

Captivity comes in all shapes and sizes. It can be found in a job that holds us in chains, a relationship that gives us little room to breathe. It can even be found in circles of friends that require certain norms to be considered worthy of membership. 

Our real captivity, however, lies deeper. Our real captivity lies within, not without. The need to be good enough, to feel lovable, are perhaps the thickest chains that bind us. No matter how hard we try to break free, no matter how many kinds of keys we put into the locks, we’re left, like the Hebrew people, to learn that there is only one who can release us from captivity. 

It’s all over the Bible, it’s all over my life, and I’m grateful to my daughter for giving me the opportunity to remember.