I said "yes" to Clive because of his eyes. There was life in them beyond the scars of abandonment and neglect. They asked me to promise love; to promise food and care and the possibility of hope.
I look at his sweet face and I'm reminded of a truth that goes beyond dogs. We've entered into a narrative of hardened independence, hopelessness and striving self-sufficiency. We wonder if we'll always fight for our heart's survival, if we'll always feel the sting of our separation, if we'll be forced into darkness with frail bones.
We wonder and pray that the light {read:love} we've somehow stumbled into will last.
And we join a biblical narrative of hope and exodus.
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It somehow seems appropriate that it is the season of Advent; it's appropriate that we stood together in church last night to light the candle of hopeful anticipation. It's appropriate that I'm reflecting on the hope in Clive's eyes and celebrating the hope in my heart for Jesus--our Shalom.
He is coming and has come and we are rescued.
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| So we pray: Loving God, we thank You for the hope You give us. Draw out of us the darkness of the world and fill us with the light of Your hope. Help us to prepare our hearts for Jesus: our perfect love, perfect peace, perfect grace that casts out all fear and calls us to worshipful lives.
May it be so. |
