Inevitability

Last Thursday, I awoke to my dad telling me, "We're probably going to put your dog to sleep today." My dad's tact is, as always, impeckable. He was over reacting -- again. She's just got a bad wrist - or ankle? - whatever, she's got arthritis. So she has trouble walking sometimes, no big deal. Then there's the fact that she's 14 and corgis live to be somewhere between 12 and 16. As I watched my poor old puppy trying desperately to navigate her way outside of my room, she was vearing heavily to one side and couldn't make it out the door but kept running into the wall. OK, maybe he was right. What a way to start the longest day of my week. I decided to go back to bed. I slept for three or four hours and determined not to get out of the bed until I wasn't depressed anymore.

It was about an hour or so after I got up that my dad returned with my poor puppy. As it turns out, she's got like the worst ear infection ever and they're going to have to knock her out to clean it - but she'll be fine. Still, with her equilibrium shot, the four days following were like Ground Hog's Day. My alarm went off, I hit snooze four times then sat up and stared at my dog - wondering if I would actually get up. Then I picked her up, put her gently on the floor and went to open the door. She ran out the door and without her equilibrium, she hit the stairs lopsided and tumbled down them like a chic in an old movie who either dies or loses a baby from the tumble. I stand at the top of the stairs with my hand over my mouth and my, no longer half asleep, eyes wide shouting "Dixie, Dixie, No!" I'm certian, each of the four times this happened, that she's going to die. She get's up, shakes off like nothing happened and looks at me with eyes that ask, "What's your problem, where's my food?"

The point it this, my dog is going to die, probably soon. I know this, and so I'm making myself crazy thinking every morning is the day and trying to fight it. Her death is inevitable. What I should be doing is enjoying her and understanding that she's only around for a little bit longer.

Here's the connection with something that actually matters. I've just started a new ministry and I am so overwhelmed with not wanting to hurt, let down, fail etc. anyone that I am paralyzed. However, I know that it's the nature of serving a perfect God that I will miss the mark. I need to accept the looming failure and follow the words of my second favorite reformer, "Sin boldly!"

Where did Christians come up with a pietistic expectation of perfection in place of an understanding of failure, grace, and God's ability to write an epic story with plucky little characters? It is mind boggeling to look at Scripture and church history and see the product we got. It's like seeing a kid who wrote 1+1 and somehow came up with the answer 14,235,764.5733 to the third power time x.