A little over a year ago my wife heard an old-wives tale about how chihuahuas can help people with asthma and other breathing problems. Matthew, our youngest, has asthma and other breathing problems, so naturally Kristy thought we needed a chihuahua in our house to help him.
We had previously had dogs inside the house and I had worked hard to send them outside. I had been miraculously successful in the venture and had no desire to have a dog inside again. So I said no. I absolutely had no desire for another dog and informed Kristy of my decision. So, we got a chihuahua. We let the kids name her, which is why her name is Cookie. She is a demure little dog with a sweet disposition. I actually like her, sort of.
Then a few months ago, Kristy thought it would be a good idea to get a male chihuahua to keep Cookie company and possibly be her husband (if you know what I mean). Instead of resisting and getting into another fight, I relented with the understanding that I would not be feeding or otherwise taking care of said dog. Again we allowed the kids to come up with a name. This time they chose Biscuit.
Where Cookie is calm and polite, Biscuit is more like any of the characters Rob Schneider has ever played; hyperactive and annoying. But he has taught me something about our merciful God.
Every night is pretty much the same at our house. We put the kids to bed, spend some time wathcing TV, reading, or on the computer, then Kristy and I head upstairs to bed. That’s when Cookie hops onto the bed to sleep at our feet. Biscuit, on the other hand, can’t quite jump as high as Cookie but still wants sleep with us.
He never goes to Kristy’s side of the bed, only mine. He jumps up and down to get my attention, but when I reach down to pick him up he scampers away. We play this little game a couple of minutes until he gets too close and I grab him and lift him up to the bed. But it doesn’t stop there. He has begun jumping back off the bed and wandering around before coming back to my side of the bed to whine in hopes that I will reach down and pick him up again.
I tried to teach him a lesson about jumping off of the bed by not picking him up again, but if I ignore him, he begins a non-stop whine that keeps me from resting. So no matter how often he jumps off the bed (so far the record is 6 times) I keep reaching down to get him every time he whines.
The other night, when he set the record, I thought of me and God and how I am nothing more than a beggar/whiner on His side of the bed. I cry out for help, for mercy, for Him to lift me up to where I once was. And He does it. He hears and forgives and lifts. When I jump back off of the bed of his loving-kindness and cry out once more, He doesn’t ignore or turn me away. Every time I seek His forgiveness, He reaches down and picks me back up.
I still don’t like Biscuit very much. I love mercy, though. So I’ll keep picking his pathetic rear-end up and putting him back in bed in hopes that God is looking down and smiling at the point He has made.