I’m Not Mine

About 30 years ago, I took the plunge.  In more ways than one.  Inside of a year’s time I repented, was baptized, and got married.  [Not the best formula, Young People—but that’s another blog.]

So there I was:  a rebel greenhorn with zero experience in submission (sorry, Mom)—suddenly owned by God, and yoked with a husband. Talk about a double-whammy.

It’s a good thing I got it sorted out quickly.  [ …NOTT!! ]

Oh, mind you—God really did get hold of my heart.  He took a Rottweiler pup and morphed her into, well, sort of a beagle—a bouncy, irritating beagle.

Last year, we got a dog. Politically correct or not, we own him.  We tell him where not to go, what not to do, and who not to …lick!  But sometimes, Darn it, I have to give him the command a few times.  I guess he wasn’t watching that day at the Humane Society when David wrote that check.

I, too, have been bought.  1 Peter 1:18-19  you were not redeemed with corruptible things, like silver or gold, from your aimless conduct received by tradition from your fathers, but with the precious blood of Christ…

I’m a sheep with a Shepherd and an under-shepherd.  As much as I’d like to forget, I recall punctuated occasions when I’ve been like our dog, Ben.  God had to repeat a few times: “Laura. COME.”  Either I temporarily forgot He owns me, or obeying my Master was less important to me than the “bone.”

Sadly, just like in my living room with that Labrador, people are watching.  When I hesitate to obey, it’s a pitiful reflection of what should be a grateful, blood-bought saint doing the will of her Father.

Well, it’s time to bid you adieu.  I’ve got business to take care of.  I will go to my devotional corner, bow my head, and give thanks—that His mercy is never failing.  I’m not a beagle at all; I’m a princess!  And, because of that blood that bought me, I can still hear (and respond to) My Master’s Voice.

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