Cute. Everything is cute these days: babies, hairstyles, skirts, shoes… I can’t say I like the word, but there is one thing it describes well: puppies.
Our golden retriever Zinnia is one of the friendliest, approachable, enthusiastic, cute dogs I know. We used to go outside and ring the doorbell just to see her fluffy tail whir through the air and her bright black puppy eyes almost smile with excitement. When we got her as a puppy three years ago, she immediately had a fan club wherever she went. I love Zinnia. She has added a fun dimension to our lives. She’s taught me about embracing all people; she’s taught me to have fun. But that is not what I learned from her today.
We thought we had trained her well. She can sit, stay, lie down, roll over, and even hold a carrot on her nose. However, there are a few things lately that have seriously bugged me. Yesterday, as I was eating an apple, Zinnia sat like an angel doggy the whole time, just waiting for a bite. I tested her allegiance by moving the apple core in front of her face like a pendulum; her eyes never left the core. Am I nothing more than a vending machine to her? When I took her outside, she yanked on the leash like she was the boss. Am I her servant? If I ignore her, she barks at me. When I punish her, she makes me look cruel. Does she control me?
As I was crushing oreos for a cake, I was mulling over our dog. Why does she bother me like nothing else? Why do I so badly want to break her will so she’ll be an obedient puppy?
The answer came to me: I am just like Zinnia.
I am the naughty puppy that looks to God chiefly for the treats He gives. I look at His blessings instead of His face. I try to manipulate Him into giving me what I want, even if it’s a good thing He’s already promised—like my daily bread. I bite the leash. I run ahead. I refuse to stay by His side. I want “freedom” to do what I want. When I get it, I’m “good” for awhile, but then I do exactly what He says He hates. When I don’t get “freedom,” I mope and whine and look at Him with those puppy eyes like I’m a martyr. I know the consequences for pride, for jealousy, for disobedience, for selfishness: death. It’s death because I’m cutting myself off from Jesus, who is Life. He’s warned me of this consequence so many times, but I stop my ears, bark at Him anyway, and then blame Him for punishing me.
And then I’m miserable.
This is my old man. This is me without Jesus. This is walking in the flesh. This is grieving His Holy Spirit. This is enmity, this is war, and this is living death.
But this is no longer me. I am a new creation. He is my new Master. There is now no condemnation to those who are in Christ.
And, for the record, I’m not just cute; I shine with the undying beauty of His face.
--12.2.10
--12.2.10
No comments:
Post a Comment