by Shari Weigerstorfer
My grandmother just dropped off her dog. Accompanying the hound is a suitcase of paraphernalia: leash, bed, bowls, chew bones, glitter balls, gourmet foods, doggie biscuits and an “instruction manual.” The latter is a long, drawn-out, detailed guide to the “care and feeding” of Missy, who will be staying with me for a week while my grandmother is in the hospital.
The dog and I survey each other from across the room. She looks worried. She should be. Missy and I have never gotten along. To me, she is a spoiled rotten child. Except, no child has ever been spoiled as much, or as long, as this dog has been. Add to this that Missy is now an old spoiled child. She’s in the winter of her life and is loosing her hair, teeth, looks and whatever charm she ever had. In addition, she has a tendency to piddle on the carpet. Plus, her breath stinks.
Let’s just say I have no love or affection for Missy. As I look at the list of commands lovingly written in Grandma’s homemade manual, I grimace. Even doggie day spas don’t offer such pampering.
I glare at Missy as I think of the effort and energy this worthless mutt will require. That is, of course, if I should comply with my grandmother’s wishes. The temptation to boot her little butt into the backyard to hang out with my normal, well-adjusted canine is high. It would teach “her highness” a thing or two about what it’s like to be a “real” dog. A week of reality might actually improve her character. As tempting as this is, though, I won’t do it.
Grandma holds a special place in my heart. When I have needed her, she has always been there. She has been my companion. She has seen my tears and been my comfort. I love her and she loves me. Although, possibly not as much as she loves this stupid dog.
To Grandma, Missy is not an old, decrepit mongrel. She is one of the great loves of her life, a dear friend and companion. Missy was there when Grandpa died. Mutually, they mourned for him. Missy was the one who saw the tears. Together, they adjusted to life without him. It was Missy who gave Grandma a reason to begin every day. Missy sat on her lap through the empty hours and walked with her through the lonely nights. She never left her side. This ugly dog now holds her heart. And I have been chosen to care for her precious treasure.
On a personal level, I loathe Missy. But this isn’t about Missy. This is about Grandma. To lovingly care for that which she treasures is my gift to her. I will care for the dog for love of the master.
Sometimes our Master asks that we care for people who seem little more than mongrels. The old, rebellious, needy or wounded can be unattractive. We may feel some are truly loathsome. The responsibility of caring for them can border on the sacrificial. These people may never appreciate our efforts. They may even resent us for it. The worst part is, we are requested to regard them in ways they don’t seem to deserve. But it’s not about them. It’s about the Master. He considers whatever we do to them as being done for Him.
We don’t see through the Master’s eyes. When we see the old and ailing that repulse our senses, He sees a precious friend valiantly and agonizingly taking their final steps “home.” What the Master sees in you is the potential patience for giving tender care.
Whereas we see the angry youth who is “nothing but trouble,” He sees a child, the victim of negligent abuse. The Master sees in you the depth of heart that his healing requires.
Though we see the worthless, sly and deceptive, He sees the faithful servant who has suffered great loss, is ravaged by bitter disappointment and drowning in hopelessness. The Master sees in you the eternal optimism that will infuse her heart with hope.
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