Looking for manure to roll in

Last night I let Whimsy out to “go to the bathroom” (what kind of a euphemism is that? There is no bathroom out there, nor could the dog use it if there were one, unless he used it like he uses a fire hydrant).

Instead, Whimsy met up with Abby, our outside dog, and the two took off for the deep woods and all points beyond. Their favorite place for adventures is a cow barn about half a mile from here across a meadow. Once I caught them returning from there smelling like manure (what is it about a dog that wants to roll in stinky stuff?).

Each time Whimsy is gone on an extended adventure, we worry. We go to the front door like the father of the prodigal and shout, “Here Whimsy!” into the cool night air and wonder if this is the time he’s going to get run over by a car.

Last night at about 11 p.m., Whimsy and Abby showed up at the door smelling of cow dung. “Be sure your sins will find you out,” I thought and immediately began to do the thing Whimsy hates more than anything – give him a bath. This morning, clean and dry, he’s back on my lap again.

Whimsy is such a picture of us as we struggle with our flesh. There is safety in the Lord’s presence, but our flesh cries out for a night of gallivanting. When we return to our master, stinking like manure, He first cleans us up and then invites us to curl up on His lap.