It was a beautiful, starry, winter night. I was surrounded by a symphony of night noises, amazed that it was so balmy and pleasant outside. The only glitch in this otherwise serene scene was that I was standing in the woods in my pajamas; it was late and I was trying to coax my dog, Winston, out of our house to do his “thing” before heading for bed.
I invited; I commanded; finally, I gritted my teeth and in total exasperation said, “Ooooh, sometimes I could just kill you, Winston!” Later, when I finally went to sleep, I had a dream that Winston passed away … of natural causes (that is to say, he wasn’t murdered). Here’s the surprising part – I was really, really sad. In fact, in my dream, I cried. When I awoke, I even had real tears in my eyes. When I got out of bed and found Winston in the hallway eagerly greeting me, I was truly relieved and happy.
I felt like I had been “Ebenezer Scrooged” – I had been given a vision of life without Winston and it had softened my heart. Make no mistake, Winston did not achieve sainthood just because of my sad dream. He still exasperates me when he stands at the door and refuses to go out, goes out but wants back in as soon as I get comfortable on the couch, sits on my feet, or shakes his frothy jowls on my clean clothes. He can be quite annoying.
But my dream exposed my heart and forever settled this issue: Do I love this crazy dog? Yes, I do. In spite of all his disturbing habits, he’s claimed a piece of my heart.
This has caused me to realize that it’s wise to consider who we may be taking for granted. There actually could be a great deal of genuine love underneath layers of frustration and resentment we’ve piled up in our hearts toward those folks who regularly get on our nerves. If we take some time to imagine life without them and let God expose our hearts, our relationships might be miraculously transformed.
My “Scrooge” experience also deepened my awareness of how much God loves me, in spite of all my disturbing and exasperating behaviors. Metaphorically speaking, He has stood in the woods in His pajamas on many chilly evenings, coaxing me to do what is good and right and necessary … and sometimes I have stood in the doorway, resisting and rebelling. He loves me anyway. He wanted to adopt me as His child; I wanted to be adopted, and in that transaction, I claimed a piece of His perfect heart.
Sometimes Winston is very lovable; sometimes he is not; but always he is mine. How thankful I am that God sees me that way, too.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, Winston is scratching on the door to get in … again.