Lori and I looked at each other in desperation as tears filled our eyes. We had given up;
Max, our Schnauzer, was lost forever, or so it seemed.
Max is close to 15. I’m not sure what that is in “dog years,” but Max is old. If there is
such a thing as “doggie dementia,” I’m pretty sure Max has it. He wanders the house,
confused about where he is, stopping and staring at the wall, or finding himself
hopelessly stuck in a corner. Max has lost some teeth, so I feed him by hand most of
the time. When we let him out, he wanders around in circles. I’ve followed him across
the yard, watching him walk around and around.
The other night, we let him out in the backyard for a few minutes. We left the back door
open with the porch light on while we waited inside, so it seemed safe for Max to be
alone. Kobe, our daughter’s Golden Doodle, was with us. Max and Kobe get along fine,
with Kobe even watching out for Max.
But that night, after about five minutes, we couldn’t find Max. Lori and I quickly formed a
search party; she went one way, I another. With our flashlights, we canvassed every
inch of our property. I even walked part of the neighborhood, then tromped in the field
behind us, where the only thing I found was briars and thistles.
Max is not able to run, and his ability to walk is limited. We couldn’t imagine a coyote
coming into our yard with the lights on and Kobe there.
After about an hour, we had given up hope. “I guess I’ll wait till morning, go out in the
fields and find him, but he will never survive the night,” I said, bemoaning our futile
search and rescue mission.
“Let’s walk down the street toward the highway one more time,” Lori said.
Kobe had been barking in that direction when I asked him if he knew where Max was.
Unsuccessful in our search, we were trudging back when I looked at the neighbor’s
house, and there was Max, stuck beneath a pick-up truck.
We grabbed Max, holding him tight, rejoicing like a first responder who has rescued
someone lost in the wilderness.
Now, here’s the thing: Max never even knew he was lost. It was up to us to go and find
him.
How many times have I wandered from my Lord, never realizing the danger I was in?
How often have I roamed in life, circling myself with myself? What about the times I
have been unaware of how I was inconveniencing others, even to the point of hurting
people that I loved?
But like a Good Shepherd, my Lord is there.
He’s come after me multiple times. It’s not that I’ve ever thrown down the gauntlet of
open rebellion. But I’ve strayed. And in my drifting, like Max, I’ve gotten stuck, if not
under a pick-up truck, at least in precarious situations.
After the Psalmist spent 175 verses in the Bible’s longest chapter proclaiming the
wonder of the Lord and his Word, he concludes, “I have wandered off like a lost sheep.
Come looking for your servant, for I do not forget your commands” (Psalm 119:176).
And even when we leave on purpose, running with our rebellious legs for the far
country, our Lord is sensitive to the slightest twitch in the repentant heart as we long for
home.
In the parable of the Lost Sheep, Jesus tells of the shepherd who leaves the 99 to
search for the one, and when he finds the lost one, “he joyfully puts it on his shoulders,”
kind of like we held Max in our arms.
My Master knows my heart better than I do. That makes me even more grateful for Him,
the One who never gives up, the One with the perfect rescue mission, made effective
for us when He carried a cross up a hill called Golgotha, making forgiveness possible
for all of us who have come to the end of ourselves, yearning for mercy, even when we
aren’t sure why we are crying for it, not even totally aware of the danger we are in, lost
in the night.