The last time I wrote about our puppy, I should have promised it would be the final time.  I didn’t, and here we go again.  Of course, the last time I wrote about our puppy, she had just ventured back from the brink of death.  Dramatic, I know, but very much true. 
 
Today, though alive and well, Macie’s days are no less numbered, mainly because her newest trick involves barking her head off at the deer behind our house EVERY SINGLE TIME SHE SEES ONE.  Friends, the autobahn for deer is two hundred feet out my back door. I don’t know where they’re heading, but apparently, every deer in the metro Atlanta area has to walk through my backyard to get there.  What this means for me is every time I sit down at the kitchen table to enjoy a few minutes of quiet and a warm cup of decaf with enough vanilla creamer to make it taste like desssert, my lovely reprieve from the busyness of life is broken by the sound of an ear-piercing bark from a twenty pound dog who wants to tackle a hundred pound deer. Needless to say, several of my robes now have coffee stains down the front of them, and I almost fell off a chair while changing a lightbulb last week.

Despite Macie’s obvious desire to be featured on Craig’s List, she remains a permanent fixture in my nightmares home.  And between the frequent episodes of incessant barking, she continues to teach me.

Macie is fully aware she is not allowed to chew on the dining room rug.  If a human is within her line of sight, she will stroll into the dining room, lie down calmly on the rug, and pretend to be preparing herself for a nap.  When Macie thinks no one is looking, however, she’ll race right into that dining room and take a big ole' bite.  Of course, our brilliant little puppy hasn’t yet realized there is more than one entrance to the dining room and I can sneak up behind her and see exactly what’s she’s up to at any time and just what kind of fool does she think I am anyway?  I am ALWAYS looking. 

The fascinating thing about dogs is they are more like humans than we’d like to admit.  Macie knows the rules.  She simply breaks them anyway.  

Hmmm.  Sound like anyone you know?  I’d like to say it sounds like my nine-year-old son and my seven-year-old daughter, and frankly, it often does.  You know who else it sounds like? 

Me.

I know the difference between right and wrong.  I choose wrong anyway.  I know the difference between judging and empathizing.  I judge anyway.  I know the difference between serving others and serving myself.  I serve myself anyway.  I know the difference between coveting and loving.  I covet anyway.  I know the difference between God’s way and my way.  And still, over and over and over again . . . I do it my way.  I should be taking a nap, and instead, I’m gnawing on the damn rug.

Like Macie, I know the rules.  I know what I’m supposed to do – with my time, with my talents, with my treasures.  I simply choose to do what I want to do instead, and many times, there is a big difference. 

I’d like to blame it on Satan.  He was the pesky apple pusher, wasn’t he?   I’d like to blame it on Adam and Eve.  They ate the forbidden apple, right?  We are fallen because they fell.  But really, I shouldn’t blame anyone.  Instead, I should express thanks.  I should drop to my knees, grateful and appreciative and forever indebted, because no matter how many times I break the rules . . . no matter how many times I make the wrong choice . . . no matter how many times I do what I want to do instead of what I know I should do, He forgives me.  

Personally, I’m not the best at forgiveness.  I remember.  I stew.  I dwell.  Most of all, I harbor unrealistic expectations.  I believe I will only have to forgive once, because how in the world could anyone who has sinned against me have the nerve to do it again. 

Oh. 

But wait. 

We sin.  That’s what we do. 

We know the rules.  We break them anyway.  Day after day, month after month, year after year, generation after generation.  And because He forgave, so must we.  Not just once, but every time.  Everyone. 

Even if it means giving a belly rub to the puppy who barks like a maniac at the deer . . . and then eats your dining room rug.

Matthew 6:14  For if you forgive others their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you.