These are a few of my NOT favorite things...the Conclusion
Boy, oh boy, has it ever been an eventful dog week around here.
Tonight, we will discuss the dramatic conclusion to the emotional drama revolving around a now familiar topic, Hank Webber., Jr.
If you need to be caught up or reminded of what's been going on, check out the prior events:
(part 2) http://webberstories.blogspot.com/2012/03/these-are-few-of-my-not-favorite-things.html
( part 1) http://webberstories.blogspot.com/2012/02/these-are-two-of-my-not-favorite-things.html
Today, I got serious about this dog, particularly in regard to the fate of his soul. I am frankly concerned about his eternal destination based on his behavior.
Hank went to church with us.
Okay, okay, it was not actually my idea to bring the dog to church, though I cannot deny he could certainly use a come to Jesus meeting.
He was actually part of an object lesson my husband was teaching to a group of first and second graders. The basic gist was that God loves us and takes care of us as His children. He gives us everything we need and He loves to take care of us and give us good gifts. The dog came along so that my hubby could use him as an example. You know, dog owners love their dogs and provide for them and all that. Come on, people, work with me here...no analogy is perfect.
The girls, of course, were completely ecstatic, beside themselves with joy, to have their loving puppy along with them on the ride to church.
We heard giggles, full out laughter, squeals of delight, and joyful interaction going on in the backseat.
Come to find out, the joyful interaction was mostly due to the fact that one of the girls was poking the dog repeatedly with a straw (which did have to be put to a stop), but nonetheless, they were getting along great and having fun. I have on occasion actually felt sorry for this dog who is repeatedly subjected to the love and affection poured out upon him by my daughters. I don't think dogs really enjoy wearing pink t-shirts they trip over or sporting Christmas hair bows which pull their fur.
We arrived. I dropped the youngest one off in her class (which by the way has an entire wall made of glass windows, enabling the little people inside to see out into the hallway and spot their weary parents...I'm no architect, but perhaps this wasn't the best design?) and the older girls headed to "big church" with me. At their ages, they are honestly not real big fans. I've written about kids in church before:
Anyway, they sat through the agonizingly long (in kid time) service, then dashed like sprinters upstairs to the room where the class would take place.
I could just see it now: banishment when the dog had an accident in the newly renovated children's wing. A baseboard chewed up into a million pieces. A severely allergic child having an asthma attack or some such crisis because of pet dander. So many things could go wrong.
I went into the classroom a few moments before everyone arrived and took this picture of my hubby studying his notes for the lesson he would teach. He had his game face on.
And then, when the class began a little later, I was nearly convinced I'd witnessed a miracle. I started to suspect that Hank may have just encountered Jesus at some point during the morning. When I slipped in to snap a few pictures, here's how he was behaving:
Look at him. Sitting like the most lethargic, content, well-behaved dog you'd ever want. Hardly even recognizable from the diaper destroying, toy eating, flatulent pup we know so well.
He was sitting quietly, looking around at the innocent children, willing them to learn more about their Savior. I halfway expected him to give an altar call.
He even sat calmly and obediently when my husband began handing out Skittles.
I was frankly shocked. What in the world? Who was this dog and where was the real Hank? Had he been drugged?
And then it hit me.
Hank, like so many of us, had learned to play the church game. He was a natural at it, actually. He had put on his Sunday face as the picture of the perfectly behaved, perfectly perfect pup who had it all together.
He is the ultimate Pharisee, this dog.
I gave him a long look as I exited the room. He seemed to have a twinkle in his eye as he watched me go.
I confided to our pastor that the most desperate sinner ever in existence was in the building.
Our pastor then endeared himself to me when he reminded me of a little thing called a shock collar. I think maybe a little surprise may be in order for Hank's next relapse when he decides to shred wet diapers again (okay, dog lovers, I'm kidding and so was he...please don't be mad).
We here in the South know how to put on our church face. Hank, a Southern born and bred bird dog, is no different. I just hope he was listening to the message and that his little sinful heart was pricked. That little grin he gave me as I walked out, however, did not make me feel very confident in his true conversion.
The message today was about repentance. I sure hope Hank was convicted of his habitual problem with destruction. After all, with Jesus, all things are possible.
I am sad to say my suspicions of Hank's hypocrisy were quickly proven correct.
The very next evening, he was again entrenched in his sinful habits.
The whole "saved pooch" thing was an act. A sham. This dog has never really encountered grace, as evidenced in his unchanged life.
He will continue to spend a lot of time like this: