I just grin and shake my head every time I think about the ending to this story. Six years ago my brother-in-law and his wife were hanging Missing Dog posters in their neighborhood in Denver. Their magnificent little Boston Terrier, Stubbs, had disappeared, and apparently, according to the account of a neighbor, had been dognapped by an anonymous maintenance worker. They even hired a private detective to rescue the little guy, to no avail. This dog was BELOVED.
The kids and I were heartbroken for them. We wrote a little story imagining what might have happened to Stubbs and what grand efforts he was making to return to the Pearson home. Let's just say it included magic tomales, a super-hero cape, and a helpful prairie dog with a map of Denver in his pocket. Grace illustrated the story. She was 3. We entitled our story "Super Stubbs."
Here is the opening paragraph:
There once was a dog named Stubbs. Everyone loved Stubbs, but his family loved him best. Why did they love Stubbs? He was small but he could jump as high as 100 stacked corn dogs. His nose was smooshed into his face and his tail was a big as your thumb, but it could wag 100 miles an hour if he liked you. He would lick you like a popsicle and he could drag you down the street on a leash if you weren't careful. (ask Noah about that!)
At the end of the story, Stubbs is joyfully reunited with his family with a big happily ever after. We color-copied the story and gave it to Aaron and Stacey, so hopeful that Stubbs would find his way home. It didn't happen. Eventually, they bought another Boston named Henry, equally adorable. But we kept our copy of the story on our book shelf for posterity.
The end. NOT!
We returned from our vacation on Monday to some incredible news. Stubbs was home. Six years later, a lot grayer, partially blind, but still remembering their hand command to sit! Stubbs had been found by animal control as a stray, scanned for a microchip, which Aaron and Stacey's vet had placed in him as a puppy, and **TAH-DAH** returned to his real family!
Now that is a better ending!
My singular question to Stacey...was he wearing a cape?
John Piper nailed me today. He pointed out that I fail to think of life as war and instead move happily through my day in pursuit of peace, harmony, beauty, and a catchy little song. I'm a born optimist, it's true, but optimism makes my prayer life weak. This quote from the book, Let the Nations be Glad, woke me up this morning.
Life is war. That's not all it is. But it is always that. Our weakness in prayer is owing largely to our neglect of this truth. Prayer is primarily a wartime walkie-talkie for the mission of the church as it advances against the powers of darkness and unbelief. It is not surprising that prayer malfunctions when we try to make it a domestic intercom to call upstairs for more comforts in the den. -John Piper
Oh my. Forgive me for my lack of insight. Even as I see death and destruction around me, I still recline in my comfortable, insulated life and forget that a spiritual battle rages. Darkness wants my children. It wants all our children. It woos them with promises of comfort, acceptance, excitement. Now right there is a war worth praying over.
My mind keeps wandering to a hospital room. To a family gathered around their son. To the aching decision to pull the plug. I can barely put myself there in my mind, and yet my friend has lived it the last week, watching her 29-year-old son, who was hit by a drunk driver, struggle for life and lose the battle.
Just weeks ago, I sat next to her planning a children's musical. Now her life is forever marked by tragedy. I am stunned by the speed in which a person's story can change.
When I read A.W. Tozer's devotional today, about how God pried Abraham's fingers from his son, Isaac, in the second most painful act of sacrifice in the Bible, I thought of all the things I clutch to my chest. My husband and children, my home, my stuff, my time, my will. They are beautiful gifts from God, but they can be His rivals in my heart.
I can't call this story of Abraham allegory or history. I can't say, "I'm glad I'm not in Abraham's shoes," because God says, "You are Abraham. You have the same two alternatives. Possess the world and everything in it, or possess nothing." Tozer calls it the blessedness of possessing nothing.
I pray for Becky and her family, that they run to a deep and bottomless well of grace.
And I pray that I continually learn the lesson of possessing nothing to gain everything.
Recommended reading, The Pursuit of God
by A.W. Tozer
