The first dog we owned as a couple was a lively little Cocker Spaniel we named Shadow. Well, more accurately, she named the dog. It was her dog, after all, bought with money she had received for her college graduation. And the name actually fit perfectly. Shadow was mostly black, with a little bit of white scattered about, and he literally shadowed my wife everywhere she went. If she stopped for moment, he would plop down right on her feet. He had clearly imprinted on her, and he wanted nothing more than to be wherever she was, receiving her unconditional love and affection.
Sadly, as he grew he became less inclined to want to stay close by. He became a “leash-tugger.” Whenever we we went for a walk, he was always out in front, pulling us to go faster. Where we lived, there was a lot of undeveloped land with woods and fields where we could walk. Each walk became more and more of a tugging match. It didn’t help that Celia, with her soft heart, was always inclined to let Shadow off his leash.
On one particular full-moon Friday evening, we went for what my wife liked to call a “romantic walk” in the back forty. Romantic or not, the dog, of course, had to be brought along. Just as we got to the edge of field where there was no light but moonlight and starlight, Celia decided to set Shadow free so he could run and frolic and do the kinds of things dogs do. Unfortunately, no sooner had she released the leash than Shadow dashed off, barking like a wild thing. We could see him running back and forth across the path, truly a shadow, as he darted into the tall grass on either side of the trail.
We could also see a smaller shadow crossing back and forth over the path, trying to keep ahead of the frenzied dog. We weren’t close enough, and the light wasn’t good enough, for us to discern exactly what kind of critter the dog was harassing. Shadow, for his part, was barking and howling for all he was worth. Well, he was until he actually caught up to the mysterious animal. We knew right away Shadow had accomplished his goal when his barking abruptly ceased and he began a plaintive, mournful, wailing. Worried now, we called for him to come and, wonder of wonders, he actually obeyed. While he was still a good distance down the path, we could see him slowly plodding in our direction, head drooping, whining and crying like a lost soul. As he drew closer, we understood the reason for his distress.
They say tomato juice and vinegar work well to remove the scent of a skunk. I say this as kindly as I know how, but they are idiots. Of course, you may think the same thing about us when I tell you we let that dog stay inside our house all the time that smell remained upon him. There are reasons for this, which you may not understand. For one, Shadow was a howler and could not be left outside over night because he would disturb the neighbors. For another, well, we loved him. Love does a lot of things that reason alone cannot justify. This was one of those things.
We opened the window to the laundry room and put a fan in it, faced so that it blew air from inside the room to the outside. We put his food and water in there and closed the door. As much as possible, we tried to minimize his time outside of that room during the evening. During the day, he could be outside a little more. But there’s no denying the whole experience was a trial.
Now, you may (and likely would) choose a different course of action were this ever to happen to you. If so, just know I wouldn’t presume to judge. But I cannot escape the sense that in this experience I saw a little parable of the depth of God’s love for us. He let us off the leash by allowing us free will, and how we have used that free will to make some awful, stinky, putrid, and devastating choices. We have chased mindlessly after pleasures and things and experiences that were never meant for us, and when we have caught up to them, they have stained us with the unbearable odor of sin and death. Rather than cast us aside as of no worth, God says to us, through Jesus, “I have prepared a place for you. I’m coming to get you. You’re going to live with me” (John 14:1-3). In fact, we are told while we were at our smelliest, Christ gave himself for us (Romans 5:8).
I have been bought with a price (1 Corinthians 6:20), but I still stink. Some days are worse than others, but there is no moment, there is no day, when my Master says, “Okay, that’s it; out you go.” Instead, he tells me there is nothing, absolutely nothing that can separate me from him (Romans 8:38, 39). So whenever I’m feeling down or discouraged, I think about Shadow, and that skunk, and all that stink, and how much we loved him in spite of the mess he made and the mess he was.
One other thing is worth pointing out. Unlike us, God has the ability to clean us up completely and remove the odor of sin. It’s slow going, for me at least, but it is happening. And that is why I have resolved to be a shadow myself, and plop myself down upon my master’s feet wherever he goes. And that is why I encourage you to do the same.
Peace.
