My Life as a Dog

I have been reading the Old Testament stories to my seven year old at bedtime. It's our second time through this year. First we read the ancient and venerable Hurlbut's Story of the Bible, now we are reading the more modern and poetic prose of Walter Wangerin's Bible for Children. The stories are the same but her questions, like God's mercies, are new every morning (or evening). Today it was, "Does God have a really bad temper?" Not a bad question, actually, though one I've not asked for a while, having learned the "right" answer years ago and never revisited the problem. She has also wondered whether God is actually selfish – “Why does He always want everybody to praise Him?” Some of these are quite challenging to field at bedtime when my critical faculties have already shut down for the day. But another question which I have thought about more recently is, "Why do the Israelites keep going away from God?”

As a child I was also puzzled by the Israelites. I did not understand why they never seemed to learn, why they committed the same sins over and over again, why they seemed to have such short memories. I heard sermons on verses like Hebrews 3:9and 10, "Your fathers tested and tried me and for forty years saw what I did. That is why I was angry with that generation, and I said, 'Their hearts are always going astray, and they have not known my ways.'" Or Psalm 78: 21-32, "In spite of all this, they kept on sinning; in spite of his wonders, they did not believe. " Even more damning was verse 36, "But they deceived Him with their mouth And lied to Him with their tongue. For their heart was not right with him, neither were they steadfast in his covenant." "What was wrong with them?" I wondered.


Now, however, having lived longer than the Israelites wandered in the wilderness, I understand them all too well. I used to to try to justify myself to myself, noting the differences between me and the Old Testament sinners. I used to think, “If God spoke to me in an audible voice. . . .” or “If I saw the water gush from the rock, if I had waded through the stinking quail carcasses, if I had seen the Egyptians utterly destroyed in the water of the Red Sea, then I would not find it so hard to be faithful, so easy to stray.” But I don’t buy my own excuses anymore. I know the truth of Jesus words that “even if one came back from the dead” it would make no difference.

“Prone to wander, Lord I feel it. Prone to leave the God I love” is the theme song of my life. And while I understand the fickle Israelites better than I did as a child, I still do not fully understand the mysteries of my own heart. When I think of all the loves of my life I wonder if there is any other relationship like the one I have with God. It seems to be utterly unique in my experience. What other relationship is such a mixture of love and wandering, desiring intimacy but requiring vigilance? Is there anyone else I say I love, or even want to love, but continually walk away from, deceive, hide from or ignore? I don’t think so.


As I puzzled over this, I found myself remembering a dog we had years ago. He was a Golden Retriever who loved us passionately. He obviously spent all day every day longing for our return; he tore down walls (literally) to be near us during thunderstorms. He mourned when we left him and rejoiced when we returned. Yet, through it all, he kept his eye on the open road. He became a master at opening the backyard gate. He was incredibly devious; he could look innocent as a lamb lying at your feet on the porch, but the minute your attention was diverted he'd be down the steps and around the first corner he could find. If you caught him in the attempt he would switch gears real fast and try to look like he was just stretching his legs or changing positions. We knew, however, he was really just biding his time till the next chance. Afterwards, he was always so happy to be found - at the pound, on the front stoop of a house miles away, or sometimes, hot and tired and panting, on his own porch. The day after an escape he'd stay close to home, tired and hungry and content, but the wanderlust would always return. I know the feeling.


The Old Testament reading Sunday was from Psalm 32. One verse caught my attention: "Don't be like the horse, or like the mule, which have no understanding, who are controlled by bit and bridle, or else they will not come near to you." At first I thought God was giving the general caution, "do not be like a beast" and I worried about my canine soul, but I believe He is singling out stubborn animals who can only be controlled by force rather than love. God Himself has, in another place, reminded us that it is the goodness of God that leads us to repentance, that while we are indeed like foolish, wayward animals, He is the Good Master who welcomes us home again and again. Like an old hymn says, "Perverse and foolish oft I strayed, But yet in love he sought me, And on his shoulder gently laid, And home rejoicing brought me. "



Probably none of this would make sense to seven year old Ivy, who is still wondering why the Israelites kept disobeying God. I can only trust that if God gives her the grace to become one of his flock she will, one day, understand. For now, maybe we should buy a dog.

voting for the Muslims

I am realizing again how black and white everything becomes in an election year. Shades of gray are hard to find, especially in a close, hard-fought election like this one promises to be. The lines seem to be particularly harshly drawn this year, and the contrasts are stark. From age to experience to skin color, we are presented with an either-or choice. No one is in any mood to compromise or seek a middle ground before the election.

So I am especially glad that my children spent the last two years outside the US in Southeast Asia where US events and issues appear more nuanced and less polarized. People, groups, nations or philosophies that may be painted with a single stroke here show in a different light outside our country's borders. My youngest children are at the age where they are just becoming aware of world events; their main exposure to newsworthy occurrences comes from dinner table conversations between their parents and older siblings. In Malaysia they imbibed opinions and attitudes along with lemon grass curry, butter naan and tandoori chicken, washed down with ice-blended mango smoothies, of course.

So this morning over breakfast my seven year old was paying close attention as I explained a map of Europe during the Middle Ages to an older child, pointing out which areas were controlled by Franks, Angles and Muslims. I didn't realize she was listening until she piped up cheerfully, "If there are no Christians, then I'm voting for the Muslims."

I was delighted. I'm so happy that she has had the opportunity to know many Muslims as kind, caring individuals, that women in headscarves don't frighten her and that she has had the opportunity for so many friendly, teasing chats with the dark=skinned young men who weigh produce at the market or serve heaping plates of rice at a favorite neighborhood restaurant. I'm so glad that Siti and Hazlini and Mustafa sound like normal, everyday names to her, and that the sound of the call to prayer does not seem strange or threatening. I know as she grows older she will learn the distinctions between peaceful Muslims and militant ones; her views about Islam will necessarily become more complex and cautious, but for now, I am happy to hear her speak from her own experience and be able to love and embrace the people she lived happily among the last two years.

When she does become old enough to vote, I hope she will not have forgotten the kindness and the generosity of the people we were privileged to know in Malaysia. She probably won't decide to "vote for the Muslims," but I hope she will still love them.