Marilyn and I love to go for a walk in the cool of the summer morning.
Mollie, our Boston Terrier, must be coaxed to go along. Still in her bed by the door, I’ll ask, “Mollie, do you want to go for a walk?” Unlike most dogs who would jump up delighted to be included, Mollie, who’s all bulldog, will roll her eyes up at me without moving a muscle as though to say, “Give me a minute while I give that some consideration.” She’s reasonably obedient, but never without that “I’m in control” pause. As a puppy this tendency irritated me and I scolded her; but since we’ve grown old together I find it quite charming. It’s obvious, isn’t it, who trained whom?
Mollie does like to go on walks, but like a weary work horse, she must first stretch, yawn, snort and scratch sufficiently. Marilyn waits patiently in the driveway while Mollie and I go through the same “delay of game” every morning. Eventually, when it’s clear that she’s ready, I snap on her leash, and we all trot off together.
But somewhere around the half way point, she stalls out on us. She just plants it and if I’m not careful, I’ll pull the collar over her head before I get stopped. She gives no warning, it’s not always the same location, but somewhere around halfway…eerrtt! She tosses out the anchor.
“Enough of a good thing! I’m done right here,” she woofs. I have learned if I give her just a few moments, she’ll weigh anchor and we’ll be back on the road again. She has another predictable trait while we’re on our walks: when we turn around and begin toward home, she picks up the pace.
I believe there is something in each of us that longs for home; a place where we are loved and accepted, a place that is familiar and friendly. I’ve considered how difficult it must have been for Jesus to leave the comfort of his home in glory to come live with us, knowing that he would be subjected to incredible misunderstanding, ridicule and torment.
Think of yourselves the way Christ Jesus thought of himself. He had equal status with God but didn’t think so much of himself that he had to cling to the advantages of that status no matter what. Not at all. When the time came, he set aside the privileges of deity and took on the status of a slave, became human! Having become human, he stayed human. It was an incredibly humbling process. He didn’t claim special privileges. Instead, he lived a selfless, obedient life and then died a selfless, obedient death—and the worst kind of death at that—a crucifixion. Philippians 2:5-8 The Message
There’s an old hymn I find myself whispering at times when, like Mollie, I’m ready to throw out the anchor and say, “OK, that’s it, I’m done right here!”—
“This world is not my home, I’m just a passin’ through,
my treasure is laid up somewhere beyond the blue,
the angels beckon me from heaven’s open door
and I can’t feel at home in this world anymore…”
I won’t apologize, I’m anxious to see Heaven. It has to be incredible to be finally, completely at home! Christians for centuries have longed for “heaven and home,” particularly when their living conditions here are difficult. I believe a healthy balance is lived out by those of us who can be contented with our current situation while anxious to experience life in Heaven. It isn’t all about this life, as some advertisers would hope to convince us… but this life is all about the next. By embracing today, we enhance tomorrow. Paul says to encourage one another with words about the life that is coming while being content with the life we live now.
“I have learned the secret of being content no matter what happens. I am content whether I am well fed or hungry. I am content whether I have more than enough or not enough.” Philippians 4:12 NIrV