My family laughs at me all the time.
They call me names and think it’s ridiculous that I love to run in the woods.
They don’t seem to understand me.
All I want is for them to love me.
I try my best to make them smile, but if they’re watching TV or playing with each other they tend to ignore me and leave me out.
It hurts my feelings when they do that, so I play with Chester instead. He gets it, but he’s getting old now and doesn’t always want to wrestle.
I don’t care.
I love my family anyway.
By the way, I’m Charlie and I’m 1 and ¾’s. I’m the youngest and bounciest member of the Hardy family and they’re right; I’m a pain in the what’s-it. But I get away with it due to my dashing good looks, debonair charm and puppy dog eyes.
My mum wants me to tell you about my Messianic Shoe. Well that’s what she calls it anyway. I call it my chew-it-up-and-thrash-it-around toy. I know I’m all grown up now and super mature, but when I was just a little puppy I loved to chew things. I didn’t care whether they were meant to be chewed or not, but for some reason mum did. I just can’t understood why she had a hissy fit every time I chewed up one of her favorite books, her new handbag or the leg of the coffee table. I tried to suggest that if she’d just lie down next to me and taste the pages of her bible or nibble on its soft leather cover she’d understand, and might even want to join me occasionally. But she gruffly dismissed my attempts to lure her into the delights of chewing inanimate objects, and then removed anything and everything from within my reach.
It was deeply frustrating until she gave me the chew-it-up-and-thrash-it-around Messianic Shoe. I’m pretty sure it’s really one of her old running shoes (I can smell her sweaty feet when I shove my nose in it) but it doesn’t matter. She gave me a gift and I-CAN-CHEW-IT. I love it!!
I’m allowed to do what ever I want to it. I chew it, tear it up and utterly destroy it. I’ve buried it the snow, chewed the top layer off and left it for dead. Once, when I was desperate to do my business, I pee’d on it by mistake when I miss aimed, but I still love it.
To be honest, I’ve utterly destroyed it. Look at it now!!
But mum’s happy, and if she’s happy, I’m happy.
I know somewhere deep down inside she loves me, but I don’t think her newfound joy is just because she can see how happy it makes me. Even when I run around the house in sheer delight, thrashing that old running shoe from side to side knocking over tea cups and banging into people, there’s another hidden reason for her contentment.
I over heard her telling her friend that my shoe has saved her other shoes and anything else; like back packs, lacrosse sticks and ballet shoes, that get left on the floor of the house, from being eaten by me. Now that I have this shoe to chew I don’t chew the other stuff lying around the house, and that is the source of her happiness.
Apparently there was this guy called Jesus who did the same thing as my shoe (taking the hit for everyone else) and people call him the Messiah, so I guess she named my shoe after Him.
Unlike us K9’s, humans keep messing up, making bad decisions and doing all sorts of things that separate them from God who loves them all unconditionally. But God has a problem. From what I’ve heard about God, and being a pastor’s dog I’ve heard a lot about this guy, He’s 100% love but at the same time 100% justice. Now I’m not great at math, but that puts him in a tricky situation when it comes to his people who keep messing up. The just side of Him requires Him to condemn them for all the stuff they’ve done, but the love side of Himself wants to save them. Being the clever chap He is, God found a way to be both love and justice AT THE SAME TIME! He condemned the world for their sin but then sent his own to pay the price. Cool hey?
Anyway, my shoe is named after that guy. I’d like to meet him. He sounds pretty cool to me and I’m pretty sure he’s alive and wants to be my friend. I must ask mum about inviting him over for a run around in the garden.
Mum says that anyone who wants to meet him can – we just need to ask. If we want to have him in our life forever we just need to say we’re sorry for all the bad stuff we’ve done (like when I pooped on the carpet on purpose because I was angry) and ask him to come into our lives. I think I’m going to say that in my head right now (mum calls that praying but I call it head chatting). Do you want to ask Jesus to be your friend too? If you do, you can head chat this with me.
It’s really cool you want to be my friend and you’re so amazing to have taken my punishment for all the bad stuff I’ve done in my life. Thank you SOOOO much. I’m really sorry for all the bad choices I’ve made and the way I’ve hurt people. Please forgive me and come and live in me so you can help me make better choices in the future.
PS. If I could have another chew-it-up-and-thrash-it-around Messianic Shoe for Chester that would be brilliant. I promise not to steal it from him.
[Tweet “Dear God, It’s really cool you want to be my friend and you’re so amazing to have taken my punishment for all the bad stuff I’ve done in my life. Thank you SOOOO much. I’m really sorry for all the bad choices I’ve made and the way I’ve hurt people. Please forgive me and come and live in me so you can help me make better choices in the future. Amen PS. If I could have another chew-it-up-and-thrash-it-around Messianic Shoe for Chester that would be brilliant. I promise not to steal it from him.”]