Hard to Love

Last night, I came home, and let Radley (my roommate's dog) out. I started changing clothes, and he did what he always does when we first get home, he came up to me, got as close as he could, and laid down in the floor. Clear signs that he was ready to be petted. I got changed, and decided to oblige. I got down on the floor and started petting him. Then, he did something that he's started doing more and more lately. He put his paw on my arm and started pushing me away. It's the most bizarre thing. He wants to be petted, he loves to be petted, he will interrupt whatever you're doing to let you know that he wants attention and love, and yet, when you try to do all things, when you try to give him the love he's wanting and asking for, he pushes you away. I almost don't understand. . . almost.

Here's the thing: this is what Christians do with those we're in community with all the time. We say we want true, close, authentic community. We say we want people to love us for who we are, and to get into our lives, and be close to us, and yet, so often when that happens, our first instinct is to put out our "paws" and push them away. It's like we're saying, "You can get close, but not too close," or "As long as your love and affection is on my terms, then we're fine. Just don't over do it." Maybe it's the fact that we know the closer people get, the more our sin will be exposed. Maybe we do that with people because that's what we do with God. I'm not sure.

My prayer is that I will always be someone who is always ready, when someone I'm in community needs to be shown love, that I will fight their attempts to push me away, and that I'll never tire of doing it all over again the next time they ask. And I hope I always have people in my life like that who will do the same.

Tangled Up Inside

I was sitting at the desk in our study/office this morning, working on some e-mails before I went to work, and watching Radley playing out in the backyard. I really didn't want him out in the backyard this morning, because it's been raining here most all weekend, and he had a bath on Saturday and was clean and smelled good, but he wanted to be out there, so I let him do what he wanted to do. He ended up, as he normally does, at the back fence where tree limbs hang over from the woods behind our house, biting and pulling on the limbs. It's one of his favorite pastimes, and I grimaced as I watched him, wrestle with the wet limbs that are actually more like vines, because I knew the more he got wrapped up in them, the dirtier he was getting. But, again, it's something he loves to do, so I let him do it. Now, I should say that he has plenty of things he could be chewing on inside the house, where it's warm and dry. My roommate spends a small fortune on bones, chew toys, etc. so that he'll have plenty to play with, but nope, those won't do. He wants the vines, the branches, the dirt and grime.

Then, it happened, as it sometimes does, I looked up from the computer, and he was tangled in one of the vines. One of his back legs had gotten caught, and he was trying to get out. I watched for a while to see if he would in fact be able to get loose, but then, I saw him go down to the ground and heard him start to whimper: the two signs that he is caught, can't get out, and needs help. So, already dressed for work, I went out to set him free. I knew there was a good chance that I would get mud on me and have to change my clothes after it was done. At the very least, I figured my hands would get dirty. Plus, it was his own fault. If he wouldn't go over and pull and twist and chew on those dumb vines, he wouldn't be caught in the first place. But, no matter how I try to justify and reason it out, it never fails. When I see him unable to free himself and hear those little puppy cries for help, my heart is compelled to go set him free. Even if it means I have to get a little dirty, and even if it is his fault in the first place.

Here's the thing: that's exactly how community within the body should be. We ought always to be watching each other "through the window," keeping an eye on each other to make sure that we can see when trouble comes. Then, in those moments when one of our brothers or sisters is caught in the vine -- whether it's their fault or not -- and they go down to the ground and start to whimper for help, our reaction should be to go get them and do everything in our power to help get them free of whatever has them caught. We may get a little (or a lot) dirty in the process, but that's really not important. And it doesn't even matter if it's the second, third, or fortieth time they've gotten caught in that same vine because they just won't leave it alone. The Gospel is for people who need second, third, and four-thousandth chances, because we all have our vines that we love to go back to over and over again. I hope and pray that as I understand the Gospel more and more and daily live more fully in it, that my heart will be softened more and more and that I'll never resist going after those caught in the vines of sin and the world.

Haven't We Been Over This Already?

So, Radley is now about nine months old, and since my roommate got him when he was only about five weeks old, two things are very true. One, he learned a lot of tricks, routines, patterns very early in life, and two, it feels like he's been a puppy forever! See, early on we taught him to sit, lay down, stay, and to come when called. Along the way he also learned our personalities, patterns, and behaviors. He knew when we wanted to pet him, and when we wanted him to leave us alone. He learned where his boundaries were and what things were off limits.

But, here's the thing: as he's gotten older and bigger and changed, he's entered a new phase where he doesn't mind as much anymore and all the things that he's learned seemed to have gone right out the window. I was thinking about that the other day and how once again, it so closely mimics and reflects my walk with Christ. See, I've been living with Christ for almost twenty-four years now -- I came to faith when I was about six or seven -- and I've learned a lot about what it means to be a follower of Christ. Along the way as Christ has taught me things and shown me things, I've also picked up a good bit about God's personality, and yet there are seasons in my life, just like with Radley, when those lessons and the things I know seem to have flown right out the window, and I live like I'm brand new at the this whole Christian-life thing.

And when these times come, it's as if God has to come back and re-teach the basics to me, like we're having to do now with Radley. This is how to sit, lay down, come when called, these are the boundaries, this is off limits. It's tedious work, with puppies and with people. I'm just so thankful that God's patience is infinitely greater with me than mine is with that little white dog sometimes.

"I just like this blanket for the articles. . . "

Last night I was talking on the phone to a friend of mine and just started laughing. Laughing so hard that I couldn't talk. My friend was wondering what was going on, and when I finally caught my breath, I explained that Radley, my roommate's puppy was. . . how can I put this delicately. . . "actively engaging" with this blanket he had in his mouth and pulled between his legs. Okay, apart from revealing that I'm not 30 but actually 12 and still think stuff like that is funny, it was another one of those moments when God revealed something to me about the gospel through this dumb little dog.

Here's thing: when Radley does something bad or wrong, he just does it right there. He doesn't care who's watching or who knows about it. His "sins" are out in the open for all to see, just like his romantic romp with the blanket. Radley doesn't try to hide because he knows he's loved. At the end of the day, he knows (as much as a dog can) that he lives in an enviornment of enormous love and care, and that nothing he does will change that, so he's just himself. . .the good, the bad, and the inappropriate!

He's not like me, always trying to hide and keep things from those around me. See, I live in a loving, caring enviornment too, but so much of my time is spent covering up, trying to look good, trying to impress, and trying to put forth an image of something that's really not true. Why can't I be more like that dog, recognize that I'm loved, and just be myself. . . the good, the bad, and the inappropriate! It's a lesson I need to learn over and over again, and God seems to be willing to use all kinds of methods to teach me!

Relationships Within the Body, Part Two: Leftovers

In Sunday School yesterday morning, we looked at how to deal with friends that are struggling with sin, knowing when to confront them, what sins to confront, and how to do it. While I always enjoy the prep. and actually getting up in front of people to teach, there are some lessons that I enjoy giving more than others. This was one of those lessons. I just felt like I was learning a ton of new stuff and looking at accountability and confrontation from a totally different angle than I ever had before. As I said in the into. yesterday morning, rules and black-and-white standards of which sins to confront and how to do it are great, but they rarely work outside of a theological, academic context. When we're in community with others who are struggling with sin, it's rarely, nice, neat, and black-and-white.

I think the example of Great Pyrenees is probably the most helpful, so I'm posting that as the main leftover from the lesson:

"As most of you know, my roommate has a dog named Radley, who's part Great Pyrenees. I've been reading about Great Pyrenees, trying understand the breed better, and there's one thing very interesting about them, that I think applies to what we've been talking about this morning. Great Pyrenees are guard dogs, mostly used to guard animals in the mountains and hills. The interesting thing about them, though, is that as guard dogs they can appear to be very laid back, not really paying attention to what's going on. Looks can be deceiving though, because even though they seem like they're just laying around, they are very aware of their surroundings and always looking out for potential danger. The minute they see or sense something, they don't bark--being that the herds they're protecting can at times be very close to cliffs, barking and scaring them can be dangerous--instead they get in between what they're guarding and the perceived danger, and they nudge what they're protecting away from the danger. Isn't that such a great picture of what Christian community should look like?! What a wonderful, merciful God to give us such a great example in his creation of what we should be doing for one another!

Accountability doesn't mean we're always looking for the worst in people's lives. Much like the Great Pyrenees, we're just supposed to be around those that we're called into community with, not pacing, nervous, looking for sin, but always aware, no matter what we're doing, of potential dangers. And when we see them, the idea is not to bark and get all bothered, but to get in between the person and the perceived danger and nudge them away from it, back to safety."

The Not So Incredible Journey

Yesterday I got a message from my roomate, "Hey, Radley ran away this morning. Somebody picked him up and took him to the vet. Can you swing by on your lunch hour and pick him up?" I went by and got him, of course, and when they brought him out, he was excited to see me and, because he is a dog, completely unaware that he had done anything wrong by running. Now, you gotta understand, that it makes absolutely no sense for Radley to wander off. I mean, he's pretty much got as good of a life as any dog could hope for. He gets food and water whenver he wants, we tell him he's good (whether he is or not), we act like fools when we come home and he's excited to see us, and we pet, play with, and congratulate him and give him a treat, even when he takes ten minutes to meander his way in the house while we're calling him! And yet, he left. Weaving in and out of traffic on a busy street seemed like a better option. Letting someone, a stranger he didn't know, pick him up felt like a good idea. Being taken to the equivalent of "doggie jail," apparently was the better choice.

Now, here's the thing: I see a lot of myself in that little dog whose head I could have pinched off yesterday. I've got people in my life who love me. Who genuinely take an interest in me. Who want to know what's going on in my life, and when they see the junk and the sin, they still want to be there for me to help me walk through whatever trials and hardships I face. And yet, so often, my instinct is to run from them. To run from a place of safety, to a place of danger. To run from those who know me well, to those who don't and ultimately don't love me. To go and live, even temporarily, in a place I don't belong instead of being in the center of those that God has placed in my life to care for me and love me. Yep, I'm a lot like Radley, constantly having to resist the urge to run.

I just pray that there will continue to be people in my life who call, just like my roommate and I do to that little white dog, "Come back, buddy. Don't go there. Come back." And, when the guard is momentarily down, and I do wander off, I hope there will be messages sent, like the one sent to me yesterday, "Hey, he ran away this morning, can you go get him?" (And may I also be always willing to go get others when they wander off, no matter how often or far I have to go.)

Understand?

Radley and I were talking today. Well, okay, being that Radley's a dog, the conversation tended to be mostly one-sided. At any rate, there I was a grown man jabbering away to a four-month-old puppy who didn't understand a bit of what I was saying. Thing is though, sometimes I talk to Radley, and he knows exactly what I'm saying. "Sit." Got it. "Stay." Loud-and-clear. "Come here." 10-4. When I say those simple things, Radley not only understands but actually responds. Not today, though. Today was way, way over his head. Oh sure, there were a few times I would say something that sounded familiar, and he would cock his head to one side like he was getting it, but in reality, I wasn't talking on his level, about familiar things like sitting and staying, and he was totally lost.

Here's the thing: I really think that's how it is with God and me so much of the time. I mean, there are a few things he's been over and over with me, and I feel like when he says them in his Word, I really get what he's saying. "You're sinful." Got it. "I'm holy." Loud-and-clear. "Tell others about me." 10-4. When he says those things, man, I'm right with him, following almost the entire conversation. Then, there are other times, when I'm sitting there like a four-month-old puppy. "This suffering really is for your good." "My plan is to send you half-way around the world, away from family and friends." "I don't love anyone else in the entire universe more than I love you." There may be words that sound familiar, and at times I'll cock my head, trying to understand, but in reality, he's the infinite God of the universe, I'm a finite human being, and I'm just lost.

There's a wonderful word called "condescension," and it's the idea that God lowers himself in all kinds of ways to make, at least parts of his character and will accessible to us as humans. He does this through creation, he did it through his Son coming earth, and he does it through his Word. All intended to make the wonders and mysteries of an infinite God a little clearer to us pups. It's one of those words that brings tears to my eyes almost everytime I see it in a song or hear it talked about, because without God's condescension to man, we'd know nothing about him, never understand anything he was talking about, and never get to know him and love him more.

Leaves a Bad Taste

A few weeks ago my roommate bought his dog, Radley, a nice new water tank. I call it a tank, because that's exactly what it looks like: a mini-water cooler that lets water into the bowl as Radley drinks. It's a pretty great invention. Now, remember, my roommate bought this for Radley so that he'd have clean drinking water, anytime he wants it. Radley doesn't have to worry about ever running out; everytime he goes to the bowl to drink, there's water.

Now, here's the thing: one of Radley's favorite things to do is go lay down in the front yard, right by the faucet and try to lick any water that might be dripping out of the faucet. Because the hose is attached, he has to work really hard to get even the smallest drop out, and there's no guarantee that there'll be water there when he goes over there. But, almost every time he's in the front yard, he's over at that faucet trying hard to get a few drops of water that tastes like old, outdoor pipes.

I'm going to leave it to you, reader, to make the spiritual connection.

More Biblical Lessons From a Dog Named Radley

This past weekend my roommate was out-of-town, and since Radley and I were "home alone," it seemed like a great time to start teaching him some things. So, with treats in hand, I crouched down and started the arduous process of repeating, over and over again, "Radley, come. Come, Radley. Come. Come." At first, it didn't even seem to register to him, and I'm pretty sure the first time he wandered over to me (there was nothing intentional about it), he had no idea what he was doing. But he got the treat anyway, and a lot of goofy praise from me. Slowly, he realized what was going on, and now when I say, "Radley, come," he does.

Here's the interesting thing: he comes reluctantly. By now he knows the routine. He sees the treat in my hand, and he knows that it's a treat, which he loves, and he knows that the sooner he gets to me, the sooner he gets the treat. I'm crouched low, on his level, so I'll be as "un-scary" as possible, and not once have I called him to me when I didn't give him the treat. This is a good thing for him. I am calling and offering something so good, something he loves, along with lots of praise and petting, and yet he comes reluctantly, timidly, unsure of what's happening, and on his guard. Seems ridiculous, right? He should be joyfully running toward me, don't you thi. . . huh? what's that?

Excuse me just a minute. God, who claims to be my Abba, Father, and offers nothing but good things for me, who sent his Son to die for me, who longs for fellowship with me, who's never once wthheld his blessings from me, and has been faithful to keep his word even when it seemed like I wandered over to him without knowing what I was doing, is calling me to come to him. Radley, am I doing that uncertain, reluctant walk right?

Biblical Lessons From A Dog Named Radley

My roommate got a dog last week, a cute, five-week-old, little lab mix, whose name is now Radley. (By the way, having a roommate who gets a dog is just the best! You get all the enjoyment of having a dog, but you never have to pay vet bills, worry about boarding him, etc. It's great!) Anyway, everyone encouraged my roommate to cage-train the dog so that he'll get used to being in a cage when we're gone during the day, sleeping in a cage, and most importantly, not going to the bathroom in the place he lives!!! So, that's what we're trying to do. One of the keys to cage-training a dog is that their cage is only as big as they are, no extra room. This way, they can't mess up one end of the cage and then go lay in another. Put them in a small cage, and if they poop or pee, they gotta lay in it, thus discouraging pooping and peeing inside. Great concept, and one that I think, ultimately, will work.

Here's the thing, though, Radley's only five weeks old. Physically, biologically, he can't hold it all day/night. Actually, he can't really hold it more than about 30 minutes to an hour at a time. It's really a double whammie. Not only is his bladder and colon the size of paddle ball, he can't control either one. In and of itself, that's a challenge. Add on top of that the fact that we're expecting him to hold it for four or five hours and, uh, yeah, you've got the recipe for clean-up on aisle eight!

Now, I don't know if Radley tries to hold it. I have no idea if in that little chickpea-size brain of his there's an internal battle between the forces of wanting to hold it and the realities of developmental science (if there is, by the way, the forces for science are way ahead headed into the sixth inning!) My guess is there's not a lot of highly developed cognitive debate going on in his head. I mean, he still struggles remembering where his water bowl is. At the same time, as I've watched and thought about Radley's struggle, or lack thereof, with cage-training, I've been reminded of how this is a great example of us trying to live out the law and the Christian life apart from Christ. I mean, my roommate and I are trying to force this little guy to do something that right now, he's just not capable of doing. Whether he tries or not, he just can't hold it. Now, there might be times when he holds it, by chance we happen to get home just at the right moment before the floodgates open, but really, that's just timing, not real success. Until he gets bigger and muscles stregthen and develop, it ain't gonna happen.

And isn't that the way it is with us when we try to live the Christian life apart from Christ? We can try, and sometimes it looks like we even get it right, but really, that's just luck, timing, coincidence. The truth is, trying to live by faith and believe the Gospel is impossible for those who don't know Christ. It's like trying to tell a man with no arms and legs to climb a tree. . . or a little five week old puppy to hold it. When I see friends or acquaintances who seem to be always struggling with issues of belief, doubt, etc. I'm becoming much more comfortable asking them the hard questions to see if they really think their even believers. They might get mad, they might get offended, but really, if they're not a believer, if they haven't been adopted by God, justified through Christ, if they don't have the Holy Spirit working in their lives to produce his fruit, then all the things I can tell them about faith and believing truth don't mean a thing. It's not that I don't think people can be true believers and struggle, not at all. I'm the posterchild for that message! It just seems pointless to encourage someone to believe again and again when they don't have the capability to do that because they never really believed the first time.

The good news is there's hope for Radley! He'll grow, develop, and eventually be able to hold it. And that'll happen overnight, and we'll be sooo freakin' excited, until we realize that he's just moved on to some other thing that we've got to correct and deal with. Hmm, sounds vaguely familiar. Anyone know somebody like that?!