Two of our dogs love to sleep in pet beds; Halo loves to chew up the pet beds when she is either bored or angry. Murphey is a mixed breed that Bob found tied and apparently abandoned next to the Murphey’s Gas Station near Walmart. Betsy is our expressway dog, a blind and aged Boston terrier. Murphey weighs at least 75 pounds and has a correspondingly large bed. Bets might weigh 20 pounds.
When I woke this morning at 4, I saw 3 sleeping dogs. Halo on the floor as usual. Betsy and Murphey had traded beds.
He probably did his 3 a.m. house check, came back to the bedroom, and found Betsy had moved into his bed. I imagine that he sighed, possibly nudged her to see if she would move, then did his requisite 4 turns and flopped down on Betsy’s bed.
I wish that I could forgive, forget and go down the road like Murphey. I think that’s the way God forgives. I can’t understand that kind of forgiveness, the kind that acknowledges a wrong, accepts it, and then forgets it. I like picturing God’s forgiveness like Murphey’s.
Really, Margaret? Really? You want to take over control of your life? Ok. I’m right here if you change your mind.
No reminders about what’s happened before. No threats. No “told you so” muttered when my hair catches fire. Just a simple “I’m here if you need me. There’s nothing to forgive. I love you no matter what.”