For the past month our dog Nala has been running off. Nala is a beautiful golden lab, the dream dog I waited years to own. We got her for the kids last Christmas, a little white fur ball we tied a red ribbon on, placed in a picnic basket, and left on the porch for the children to find just before Christmas on a Sunday morning after church. Such a delight Nala was to us in her youth. The playful puppy in the yard crazy for our love. She was the crowning touch to our country home completing my creation of a perfect life.

Now Nala’s a whole lot of trouble. Many mornings I get a phone call from a stranger on the road. “Do you own a dog named Nala? You need to come get her.” The helpful stranger reads her name and phone number off the dog tag on her collar, usually around 7:30 am when I’m still in my pajamas because since I’ve gotten pregnant, I stay in my pajamas longer. PJs are more comfortable than my maternity jeans, and if I sit on the couch very quietly watching Charlie Brown with our two-year-old Garry, my morning sickness doesn’t seem so bad.

Now I have to go get that stupid dog, and boy, am I nauseated.

“I didn’t want her to get run over,” says the good Samaritan who has hailed me from their cell phone a half mile from our house. “She’s such a pretty dog. You don’t want to lose her out here on the road.”

So Garry and I, having put Charlie Brown on pause and dressed in five seconds, load Nala into the car and drive her home. I scold her fiercely and lock her up in the kennel.
For a few days, I imprison her as punishment for leaving the yard. Once I let her out, she seems contrite and faithfully stays home for awhile. So I begin to trust her again and don’t watch her so closely. Then back she goes to straying and back I go to chasing her down the road collecting her from all kinds of dangerous situations.

My husband thinks we should just get rid of her. “You don’t need to deal with a dog like that when you are pregnant and have six kids and me to take care of,” he tells me.
“But I love her,” I argue. “Nala’s my companion.”

Recently, my nineteen year old daughter and I were talking about God. About why He puts up with humans when they cause so much trouble in His creation. Why does God even want to have us around?” my daughter asked.
Without thinking, I said, “Well, I put up with Nala. I love her even when she’s being a bad dog.”

You see, the thing is, I planned for Nala. I created our yard with her in mind. I pictured her lying on our front porch waiting for me to come home. In the cool of the evening, I sit on the porch swing and scratch her head. She looks at me with those big brown eyes knowing I am her master. Knowing I take care of her. Knowing I love her. Nala has my heart.

So I chase her down the road. I rescue her from strangers. I discipline her because I’m trying to keep her safe. Each day I pray that Nala will see the error of her ways and be content to live in my care. That she will stop running.

THOUGHT FOR THE WEEK:
Is there a place in your life where you are running from God’s care right now?