Just a few weeks ago I had to take our dog to the vet and have him put to sleep he was getting pretty old, wasn’t able to see real well and had lost a majority of his teeth. He had been a good dog over the years, we brought him home as a puppy when our kids were, … well,… kids. His name was Roger (the people we bought him from had named him that and it stuck). He did the usual puppy stuff like peeing on my pant leg while I was wearing them, making a “mess” in all the wrong places, throwing up at the wrong time on the most valuable things and tearing up what ever was within reach. He really was a good dog, he loved to go on walks, check out the “big dogs” fetch things (but never bring them back) being chased and riding in my truck. He was the kid’s dog while they still lived at home, getting dressed in doll clothes, being slid across the kitchen floor and snuck under their covers when it was time for bed (he knew that wasn’t allowed).
As the kids grew up and moved away from home he became my dog, I fed him, took him out at night and “cleaned up” after him. We had a knack for wandering off at the most inconvenient times and I would swear each time that I was “not” going to go look “that dog”, but I soon found myself searching with my flashlight several blocks away in the dark at two in the morning only to find him walking along a busy highway (stupid dog).
He once got sprayed by a skunk and guess who had to wash him in tomato juice?
We used to live in the country and I had a bucket behind the barn where I would sit and watch the sun go down and ask God a lot of questions and Roger was always there with me during those spiritual episodes (really don’t think he was paying much attention though. Roger, not God). I would get mad at that dog, pet him, scratch him, talk to him, laugh at him and simply sit playing the guitar with him lying at my feet. He was a good dog.
So Roger got older and I knew I was facing a tough decision, when was the right time to take him to the vet and have him put to sleep? I threatened to do it a couple of times when he made me mad at him but my wife would look at me and say, “dear you’re not going to take him in and you know it, you just talk tough”. She was right. But his health slowly started to get worse, he walked a little slower bumped into things, would wander off and not find his way back. He was “okay” but I knew each day was a little harder on him and tomorrow wasn’t going to get any better. So the day came, I called the vet on a saturday morning and they had an opening in 45 minutes, I really didn’t want to schedule it a week out because I just couldn’t do that, 45 minutes … do it…. just get it done.
I found him in the house asleep in his bed, picked him up and put him in my truck (which perked him right up because he LOVED to ride in my truck). We drove to the vet and I took him to the front counter. They wanted to know if I wanted to be there when they injected him.
“Do you mean, do I want to watch you kill my dog? No!”
Do you want to take him home? “No”
“I just want to pay, give you my dog and leave”. Geez!
So that’s what I did. I paid, petted by dog, scratched him on the head a few times, handed him to the girl on the other side of the counter and left.
It was a strange drive home with plenty of time to think and process what had just happened. I’ve always seen and processed things from God’s perspective and this was no different. It was hard for me to decide that this would be the day my dog would die, one minute he’s sleeping in his bed next to the fire place in the family room and I make the decision that in forty five minutes he’s going to be put to sleep. Not an easy thing, making a decision like that …. who do I think I am? God? How do I decide, … now, … because I say so. I get to determine the “when”. Being the one to decide didn’t settle well. I began to see from God’s perspective, if it’s hard for me to decide when my dog should die, how much harder for God in His sovereignty to determine when each of us, whom He has created in His own image, should die. Sorry I don’t want that choice. But God does it every second of every day with those whom He knew before He laid the foundation of the world, He knew us as He formed us in our mothers womb, fearfully and wonderfully made, we are. How does God do it? What goes through His mind? If He knows those who have not accepted Him are destined for hell, how does He handle the decision, “In ten minutes you’re done”? He’s numbered our days and has established our steps yet somehow in His eternal sovereignty He’s not writhing in uncertainty or guilt.
A baby, a teenager, mother, soldier, husband, friend or grandfather, each life span is acceptable to God, each sufficient, each satisfies, each enough.
So, I drive home in my truck without my dog trying to ponder my way through the dark mysterious cloud that shrouds the fearful sovereignty that is God’s and God’s alone hoping to somehow catch a glimpse of the Glory upon which it rests.
