He looked to be about eight years old - red faced and running… And I didn't see him at first.
I was easing through the neighborhood admiring the autumn décor: colorful leaves in trees courtesy of The Creator and carved pumpkins, ghosts and goblins put on display by The Creators' creation.
Seems to me folks are always decorating for one reason or another.
Soon goblins will come down and the gobblers will go up. Skeletons and black cats will be changed to scarecrows and turkeys. And later, they'll be replaced with twinkling lights, green trees and jingling bells.
Houses and homes forever in a state of flux. The only thing that stays the same is; everything-changes.
Why? Why as soon as we move in to the house we loved enough to buy, are we making changes to it? New colors, different floors, knock out this wall, build that one. And as soon as we finish, we're thinking of something new. Why?
Maybe creativity is in our DNA – created by the Creator to be creative.
These thoughts were strolling through my mind as I eased around the bend. And then it happened.
Speaking of change, things were about to – quick. Real quick. In a flash I went from the serenity of a Norman Rockwell scene to slam-on- your breaks-you're-about-to-hit-a-kid.
I remember his little red gloved hand. Held up like a police officer stopping traffic. He was in hot pursuit, too. The look on his face meant business. I rolled down my window to ask…. But he was too busy to stop. As he ran by I could hear him panting and see tears in his eyes. Through freckles and tears and panting quivering lips I heard, "THAT'S MY DOG."
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Across the road and through front yards they wove like dogs will do – the little boy hot on his heels. Nothing would deter him. Not even three tons of steel rolling down the road – he was focused on one thing.
The rules didn't matter. The one about looking both ways before crossing the street – completely irrelevant. Look out for me cause I'm coming through. Stay in the front yard where I can see you. Sorry mom I'm bailing boundaries, I've got to go.
He would go anywhere. He would stop at nothing; because THAT'S HIS DOG.
It still kind-of chokes me up when I remember his determined little tear streaked face and out of breath voice. But nothing like the remembrance of what happened next.
When he finally caught up to the puppy, cornered him in the neighbors front entry, he picked him up and started hugging him and kissing him. The puppy was wagging his tale like a windshield wiper on high and licking the tears off his face. The boy started walking home with the puppy held up to his face; kissing and hugging and licking and giggling the way kids do. And all smiles.
He did pause to look before stepping out into the street. He looked at me looking at him. We smiled at each other. His smile was bigger. He held up his prize and said through that smile that wouldn't quit and licks that wouldn't either, "THAT'S MY DOG."
He didn't scold him. He didn't beat him. He was so happy to be reconciled to him – all he could do was hold him. Love him.
My eyes needed a windshield wiper now. I thought; I'm so glad when I ran off weaving my own way, my Master, too, left His home in search of me. He crossed to the other side and ran into harms' way calling out my name. I'm so glad He caught me. And so very glad that now He holds me. He lifts me up and says… "THAT'S MY BOY."
18 Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ, and has given us the ministry of reconciliation, 19 that is, that God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them, and has committed to us the word of reconciliation.
20 Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ's behalf, be reconciled to God.
This story is a part of One Word Blog Carnival. This weeks’ topic is reconciliation. If you’d like to read other stories on the topic please click here to visit