Now, just a little note about Bishop: he is a momma's boy. If I walk from one room to the very next, Bishop comes with me. In caring for our home throughout the day, I must roundtrip the stairs at least seven or eight times; Bishop keeps pace with me each time. Trying to keep this faithful little shadow from standing or walking is virtually impossible; it has required the watchfulness of both Scott and I for the past few days.
This morning, as Scott headed off to work, I knew I'd be spending my day planted in one spot as much as sanity would allow -- anything to keep my little man off his feet. Turns out, that was much harder than I anticipated. In addition to my compulsion to eradicate "to-dos" from my list, Bishop is feeling a little better -- either that, or he is tiring of this new sedentary lifestyle. He has attempted to follow me from one end of the kitchen table to the next. He rises from his bed every half hour or so, just waiting for me to give him permission to leave it. And each time he has ignored my command to stay, sprinting toward what I'm certain is a complete reversal of all we've endured. I've noticed his wound does not bleed through as quickly as it has in the last couple of days.
Funny thing about this brain God has given me, I found a few lessons in all of that:
Lesson #1: Problem areas require extra care.
The nature and location of Bishop's injury requires us to be extra vigilant that it might heal quickly and completely. We all have those things in life that really push our buttons. Things that may reach deeply into our past or former experiences, things we have found difficult to release, things that cripple us or cause us to really lose our minds. Those are the things that require extra care.
Matthew 17 gives the account of Jesus' disciples, approached one day by a man seeking healing for his demon-tormented son. The disciples were unable to cast this demon out. Jesus explained to them, this was not your run-of-the-mill issue; this one required special measures, prayer and fasting. Problem areas require extra care.
Lesson #2: Helping others can be God's way of dealing with us.
I marvel at the way Bishop is constantly moving. Lately, I have not been able to consider that without this voice of conviction that sears my lips closed: "Bishop follows you everywhere," it whispers. Oops.
Recently, God has, by His grace, had His finger on my busyness. My busyness causes me to ignore the many ways He wants to speak to me and the things He wants to teach me. My busyness causes me to put my relationships on the back burner. Sitting these last couple of days, and forcing Bishop to stay quiet has been a constant reminder to me of what God wants to do. Helping one anxious little dog has been God's way of dealing with me.
Lesson #3: A few seconds of foolishness can put our healing at risk.
Bishop appears to be feeling more like his old self. And that could be his downfall. By behaving as if he is uninjured or no longer in need of help, by acting according to his instincts, he can set the healing process back, or even cause further damage.
As Christians, we are to be a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable unto God (Romans 12:1). But we can never be that in our own strength; we have to give Him our problem areas, the diseased and damaged parts of our lives, and allow Him, by His grace, to sanctify us and make us whole. That's not always easy to do. Sometimes our old nature fights against the work God is doing; and sometimes our old nature tells us that we are good, tells us it won't matter if we skip worship just this once, tells us we've come so far we deserve a break. A few seconds of foolishness can alter all God wants to do in us.
Bishop will be fine. He will be trotting faithfully at my heels once again, listening for my voice, going wherever I go, never taking his eyes off of me.
There's a lesson in that for all of us.
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