She is mine

Sometimes there is doubt to whom I belong.  This morning my mind got to twirling as it often does when I’m up early in a quiet house.  Two things impressed me.  The first is that Satan posts pictures to my mind, sometimes for the world to see, that scream "She is mine!" “You belong to me.  We have a history, a connection that cannot be denied.  You will always be mine.”

But the Father says “No.  She is mine, born into my family.”  And I know and He knows and Satan knows the truth.  The world may not see it, but I am God’s girl.  My actions may betray it at times, but I am God’s own precious property, born, bought and loved.  My heart may fail, but He never fails, never gives up, never relinquishes his Father role.  It is my shame, my glory, my hope.

The second came from my big black dog.  I was sitting at my desk this morning when he padded in and laid his head in my lap in that special way no other dog I’ve ever had has done and looked up at me with soft brown eyes that said “I’m your doggie.  I depend on you.”  And I realize that he is my own.  At first, it was my idea to own him.  Now it is his idea as well. 

He’s a sociable dog these days.  He’s shy at first, but not for long.  He likes meeting people for the most part and he really enjoys interaction.  Yet when I say “Go in the other room,” he goes –albeit reluctantly for he does not understand that one.  When I say, “Back up and be polite,” he obeys, though he may try a different avenue a few times just to be sure that I really meant what he heard.  He’s learning that my commands are not meant for restriction or disappointment.  They are not based in rejection, but they are based in good.  He trusts that I will not leave him in a place of harm or treat him with injustice.

He has a way with me that is different than with others.  He trusts my good for him even when he doesn’t really want it.  And most times, he knows that my demands as well as my affection are based in a desire for his good.  When I say “Sit!  Wait!” he knows something is coming and it’s probably going to be pretty good.  He may dance with his front feet, but his bottom stays put and I have to chuckle.  I enjoy our play time, our snuggle time, his face in my lap looking up and even looking down at his big black form curled up close to where I am. 

He’s gentle with me.  If  he gets too rowdy and bites or scratches, he pulls back before I react and then makes sure I know that he meant no harm.  When I rub his ears or his chest, when I pet his face and smile, he is ecstatic.  It makes me laugh to see such pleasure from a dog.  He’s huge and strong, but he’s my doggy.  We still have issues with nature and exuberance, but he is changing and learning constantly.

I didn’t have to take him into my home and family, but I did.  I don’t have to allow him a bed in my living space and dishes with food and water readily available as he needs it, but I do.  I had to save his life last summer; he is mine.  What I do with and for him is because I really do love him.  He’s part of my world, my household, my heart.

Unlike God, my care giver, my master, my father, I am not always right, always knowing, always faithful, always present.  Yet if I know how to do good and love and give good, imagine how much more God cares for me.

So Satan, you did have me for my early years.  You do still have an imprint in my mind and behaviors, but I do not claim you.  My hope is that others will recognize my true parentage.  You try to show me how much fun life was in your realm but these days, I see the shame, the heartache, the deception.  You remind me of the ties to your people, your home, your system.  But I remember that I am destined for God’s house, God’s family, God’s purpose.

Born. Chosen. Redeemed. Loved.