Calling the Shots

If I put my aging, falling down, almost completely blind and deaf dog to death, am I putting him out of my misery, or his? 

It is difficult to witness his daily decline. He falls frequently, has trouble getting up, and yet his tail and tummy still work, wagging for attention and in his stomachs case, consistently wanting filling. By breed he is a puggle, and I refer to him as a piggle, an apropos nickname for a forever hungry hound. He walks into things, gets trapped with no where to go, and yet wherever I am, so is he, an affectionate companion and loyal furry friend. Three years ago I figured out that I could get his mandatory-money-grab city license minus the injections that were imposed every two years. Imagine that, refusing to get my dog shot for something he would never catch, namely, rabies. He is a king amongst dogs he is, living in his own castle, without fear of wolverines, bears, tigers, or even racoons, since our well kept suburban neighbourhood is not wild animal inviting. 

I sometimes call Cesaer, that is his name, a wandering Jew. He does a passeggiata, as my mom calls it, walking back and forth aimlessly in the evenings, restless, uncertain. He used to run to the sound of voices, mind the fence, patrol the area, secure our safety, one howl or repeated barking spurt at a time, letting possible intruders know that being aware of his presence might save them a limb, in other words, Do not trespass or enter in! He lost his bark a while ago, and I can't believe I am writing this, but I miss it. I miss the run through the high snow eating as you go playful dog he used to be. I miss his head in my lap on the couch, and I miss what was, and all that came with him when we brought him home sixteen years ago. 

I miss a lot of things, don't you?

Dear reader, I speak of my dog, but God help us, it is people that I weep for, being treated like dogs. The wicked ones treat humans with horrifying distain, heart rending disregard, putting them down without hesitation, without a hint of conscience. I see the masked ones still, and my heart hurts ... it is as though they themselves love and embrace the miserable, the misery, the very evil that wants to smother them to death. I have heard I can call a veterinarian to come to my house and lethally inject my dog for a fee ... God Almighty, I can do the same for my mother ... I can pay for someone to kill my dog, and the government has offered with taxpayers dollars to do the same for the elderly, the sad, the sick, the despairing, the hopeless and helpless.  My soul is rent, dear reader, incapable of comprehension. I have heard neighbours tell of surgeries they paid for their injured animals, up to $10 000, because the pet was considered part of the family, and yet the very same neighbours kept their distance from other humans when they were told to by the government: this is a case of having wealth without presence of mind, being rich with cash and poor in spirit. 

How could this be? How could people devalue each other and themselves so drastically and dramatically, without a hint of awareness?

I have an idea of how this all happened, dear one. With sadness I see that people have put their very lives into the wrong hands. There are hands that crafted each one of us, or at least in my limited imagination, that is how I can conceive of the weaving of God's Spirit, and yet many a human is self-possessed, believing they are in charge, able to choose who and what and when in all their life decisions. Yes indeed, they are correct, and yet death, even when lethally injected, does not necessarily happen immediately, and I praise God for this truth. Even when humans misplace their trust by believing they are in charge, God remains the one that calls the shots, and what the outcomes with be. 

In the second letter to the Thessalonians, we learn that God sends humans that prefer self-deception over a love of truth, strong delusion:

And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: that they might all be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness. But we are bound to give thanks alway to God for you, brethren beloved of the Lord, because God hath from the beginning chosen you to salvation through the sanctification of the Spirit and belief of the truth: Wherefore he called you by our gospel, to the obtaining of the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, brethren, stand fast, and hold the traditions which ye have been taught, whether by word, or our epistle (2 Thessalonians 2:11-15)

💖 The truth is forever because Jesus is the Truth

💖 The truth is available because Jesus is ever present

💖 The truth is the purest form of love leaving no room or space between us and God

The truth will make us free, and death is a killer, dear one. The spirit of death is roaming obnoxiously, and people have invited it into their homes by denying the living God. Jesus rose FROM the DEAD, and if only, if only people would turn to Him, know Him, give their lives to Him, we wouldn't have sudden unexpected random and yet pre-planned death and destruction happening in all directions we turn. Denying deity is a death sentence, dear one, and I fear for the souls that hang in the balance, perilously poised on the precipice, dangling as it were, gripped at the ankle by one sharp nailed demon per person ...  

I am hoping my dog dies in his sleep after dreaming about a full bowl of food he inhaled, running in the snow and eating as much of it as he desired, and sniffing where other dogs have been. Maybe he will recall the soft laps onto which he rested his head, and will be doggy glad for the time he spent in his castle as the wannabe king. My prayer for the humans we have in and amongst us, is for them to know the love of God via the hands of humans, with soft caresses, gentle embraces, and help when they need it the most. 

Now, more than ever, we must be love, for the sake of souls.