Sometimes, to wander is to be lost.
Every so often the dogs get out and go gallivanting around the neighborhood. Either the gate doesn’t shut properly or they sneak out as it is propped open and my back is turned to carry something inside. Regardless of how they get out, the end result is the same.
The pair of them shoot off down the street. Make the corner. Then, they are gone.
They are the couple of friends in the group who always manage to wander off, get separated and call at 3:30am unsure of where they are and needing a ride.
However frustrating, I always drop what I’m doing in that moment to run after them. As I’m not much of a sprinter anymore, nor much of a fast mover for that matter, it usually takes a while for me to catch up.
Inevitably, I find the yard they have chosen to terrorize and there they are — doing what dogs do. Rolling. Sniffing. Chasing absolutely nothing. To them they are not lost nor in danger of becoming lost. The two of them are completely oblivious to the notion that had I not come chasing after them it’s entirely possible they never would have made it back to their own home. At that point, I whistle, get their attention and lead them back home..where they belong.
To me this relationship with the dogs seems an awful lot like my God’s relationship with me. His promise to leave the 99 to go after the one. Quite often I find that one is me — wandering without a clue as to how lost I am. I count myself lucky to know a God who cares enough to passionately pursue me before I even realize how unfamiliar my surroundings seem.
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