We’re still getting used to having a puppy around the house. I call her a puppy, but I honestly think this creature is mostly GOAT. The other day we had company and Gracie came lumbering into the family room with our guest’s toothbrush sticking out of her mouth. Talk about embarrassing. At least she has good dental hygiene. If we could only get her to floss.
Every morning we harvest the Gracie leftovers from the family room rug. There is almost always a wide selection of sock parts. It’s amazing to me that she can turn one napkin into a half acre of napkin confetti. It’s all faithfully spread across the rug every morning like manna.
This morning, along with the manna, I harvested kindling from three colored pencils (she had already digested about a pencil and a half), and what used to be a package of paper. I guess that means if she happened to swallow anything live, it has enough art supplies in there to complete a nice project or two. I also found half a hair clip and one of my daughter’s new shoes—which now has handy ventilation holes in the heel—plus a shredded pizza box and pieces of what used to be the seven, nine and Jack of hearts. I think she was going for a flush.
One of the worst atrocities happened a few weeks ago when Gracie found Andrew’s huge hot pink loofa (we’ll talk about why my college boy had a huge hot pink loofa another time—suffice it to say it’s one of the big jokes on his college campus).
Andrew had just moved all his things home from college for the summer when Gracie noticed the loofa and I guess figured Andrew brought it home as a little souvenir for her. By the time we found her, hot pink fluff covered the entire family room floor. Oh the humanity. Pink loofa carcass everywhere! It looked like someone had plucked a ballerina. At least it wasn’t a total loss. There was residual shower gel in the loofa and the family room smells a lot less like puppy breath. Nevermind that Gracie is still blowing bubbles.
Paper or plastic? She doesn’t care. She doesn’t even bother to find out if it’s wood, hay or stubble, animal, vegetable or mineral. In shoes she does seem to prefer leather, though she’s yet to meet a shoe she would shun. It’s hard for me to imagine looking at my son’s flip flop and thinking, “My, that looks delicious.” But this pup? She’ll swallow anything.
Sadly, some people will swallow anything, too. But as children of God, we need to be intentional about what we believe. And we need to know why we believe it. We find dependable, never-changing truth in the word of God. Psalm 119:160 says, “Your words all add up to the sum total: Truth. Your righteous decisions are eternal” (MSG).
Earlier in Psalm 119 we read, “With my lips I recount all the laws that come from your mouth. I delight in your decrees; I will not neglect your word” (vv. 13, 16). Now there’s something worthwhile to let past our lips: his word.
No need to swallow whatever we heard last. We can ever and always depend on God’s truth. And chew on this. He gives us wisdom to understand his truth when we ask. No bones about it—doggie or otherwise. James 1:5 says, “If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him.”
So let’s seek the Lord, let’s do our truth homework and ask for his wisdom. No need to let the world’s philosophies “get our goat.” His truth goes down just the right way.
By the way, it’s nice to know you don’t have to be all that careful where you leave your truth homework. It’s eternal homework--the dog can’t really eat it.
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