Of course, Bailey wanted to jump up on me because she was excited that I was outside. I was carrying a bowl of water and trying to avoid getting muddy, so I didn't exactly find it amusing. I tried to get the dogs to sit next to one another to take a picture, but in all of her excitement, Bailey couldn't sit still. "Sit, darn it! All I want to do is write a blog about washing feet!" This is the best picture I got:
At this point, I should have stopped, taken a moment to breathe, and remembered that I was trying to be like Jesus. Obviously, this is not what I did. I put the bowl of water of the ground and picked up Bailey's muddy foot to put in the water. She freaked. Once she figured out what the water was for, she squirmed and kicked so that she could get as far away from the water as possible. I didn't stop to breathe at this point either, but I should have. Instead I picked Bailey up and started putting her feet in the water. She squirmed, which made me even more angry, so I made her splash herself with the water. As if the experience wasn't scarring enough, right? Then I wiped a soaked and cowering Bailey's feet off and let her go inside. Surely at this point I should have taken a moment to breathe. But I didn't.
I went to Misty, who wanted nothing to do with the bowl of water after seeing Bailey's experience. So, being the mature adult that I am, I threw the remaining water at her and stormed inside to get a cup of water instead. When I came back outside with my Newk's cup full of water, Misty was in the same mud-filled corner of the yard, trying to stay as far away from me as possible. I yelled at her until she came over, and I cleaned one foot at a time, refilling the cup in between each foot. Misty was at least smart enough to stay still and let me do what I needed to do. This was the towel at the end of both cleanings (Notice the muddy footprints next to it):
I came back inside, ate a piece of chocolate, and just started crying. God that wasn't what I meant to do at all. That didn't glorify you at all! I felt a little like Paul when he was writing Romans 7. I knew what I wanted to do, and I knew what I didn't want to do. I did the thing I didn't want to do instead of doing the thing I did want to do. Now, I'm sitting here doing my blog post because I know that somehow I must still try to glorify God through washing those feet.
The beautiful thing about being a Christian is that we're not called to be perfect. God understands our sinful nature and sent us a savior so that we would no longer be ensnared by our sin. Jesus died knowing I would make one dog splash water on herself and then throw water at the other dog. After Paul wrote his wordy passage about doing things we don't want to do, he wrote something awesome.
"Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." Romans 8:1
Even though I'm a sinner, even though I totally messed up an opportunity to be more like Jesus, there is no condemnation. Sure, if my sheriff neighbors had seen me yelling and forcing feet into water, they probably would have been concerned. And, if Michael had walked in upon the scene I definitely would have been embarrassed. But, despite my temper, despite my desire to control animals who had no idea why I was angry, I am still forgiven. My sin doesn't change anything. It's already been accounted for, already been written off. This morning I am so thankful for a God who graciously forgives, time and time again. I'm thankful for a savior who died knowing all about my temper. And, honestly, I'm really thankful that no one else saw me overreact towards my dogs this morning. Now it's time for cuddles and treats.
No comments:
Post a Comment