Being loved changes us.
There's a little stray dog -- perhaps a chihuahua, a Pomeranian, or a mix -- running around outside. The disturbed creature's crazed barking awakened me at 4:50 this morning. Unsettled, I couldn't go back to sleep.
Yesterday I tried to help it, but the dog hid in a corner, barking and snarling in fear. Fleas crawled across the poor thing's face. Its yellow eyes looked deranged, distant, traumatized....Yet I saw glimpses of what the dog could have been if someone cared for it.
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| At the time Tyson was next to me, contentedly snoring like a domestic dog ought to. |
Love...or the lack of love...makes us who we are. Love transforms our character. Without love we become like that abandoned dog, a deranged shadow of who we're meant to be.
The dog was too far gone to realize the difference between an enemy and a friend. It didn't sense my intention to help. From its perspective, all had become darkness and danger...and so it ran away from love, the only way it could be saved.
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