Don't hoard--give!

     Missing our Mo.
    This is Moses, a few months back, doing one of his favorite things--soaking up the sunshine on our back deck while I sat nearby reading and doing Bible study.  We both loved sitting outside "soaking up the benies"--as in "beneficial rays"--as my Dad used to call them.  There's nothing like the Word or a good book, the warm sunshine, and a sweet old dog at your feet.
     And Moses loved it as much as I did.  If I so much as grabbed my gigantic straw hat, he'd run to the back door, ready to head out to our deck.  Or if I mentioned the word "quiet time," he'd often rush to the back door as well--ever ready for an opportunity to enjoy the chorus of the birds, the gentle breezes, and the sun warming up his old bones.
     So today, I started to sit down with the Word and realized I hadn't gone out to the deck for a few weeks--often too hot and buggy in the midst of summer--and wept.  For that meant Moses hadn't had that opportunity in the last week or two of his life to do what he loved, with a person that he loved.  And that makes me cry.  Even now, it's hard to type with the tears falling.  I'm so sorry Moses.  I'm so sorry to have put my comfort and convenience over your momentary joy.
     Had I known, had I only had some inkling, that we only had days with you, I would have sat outside with you, no matter how blazing the sun.  We would have listened together to the hawk's shrill cry, perked up at the sound of a dog's bark, savored the smell of newly cut grass...and you could have snapped at the buzzing flies.
     But I didn't know.
     In the morning, I would have made your favorite food--scrambled eggs--for the kids and scraped an obscene amount into your food bowl.  And we would have even let you lick their plates clean, figuring the dish washer would later take care of any germs.
     But I didn't know.
    O how I would have slowed down on our walks and forgotten my occasional frustration at your slowness and feebleness.  Forgive my impatient pace.  If I had only known, I would have crawled along the greenway, stopping at every smell as long as you wanted and as frequently as your big old heart desired.
     But I didn't know.
     And I would have somehow, someway picked you up and hauled you into the car so you could drive all over town with me since, despite the fact that you did nothing but sit there, you just loved to be with us in the car wherever we were going.
     But I didn't know.
     I would have forgotten all about only giving you your super-nutricious dry dog food that we could only buy at those fancy dog stores because it was supposed to keep your weight down and help your arthritic joints.  No, I would've said, "To heck with nutrition and weight management--let's live life to the fullest, sweet old Mo, and drain it to the last drop!  So here's some cheese and chicken and even a little chocolate.  Enjoy!"
     But I didn't know.
     Still I know that somehow you forgave me all that, because that's what you always did--love and forgive and love some more, no matter what, no matter who, no matter how.  Love completely, love unconditionally, love sacrificially--and do it NOW.  That's the dog's motto.
     I read a wonderful quote the other day by Annie Dillard from her book about writing, The Writing Life.  In it she says, "Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book, or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now."
     How true in all our lives--and especially in the way we relate to others.  Stop hoarding our time and energy and love and forgiveness.  Just pour it out extravagantly.  Give it, share it, show it and trust that God--who is the ultimate Provider and Sustainer of all good gifts--will give us more time and energy and love and joy to keep on giving out again and again.   He never runs low on grace, especially grace for the needy and humble.
     Stop waiting for the "perfect" time--which often simply means: when we've gotten those chores finished or that to-do list completed.  No, stop hoarding and waiting to make that phone call or play that board game or take that walk or read that book out loud or obey God's still, small voice in some area of your life.
      Do it today.  Do it now.  Take that first small step of obedience and trust that God will make your paths straight and secure...though not necessarily safe. 
     So sweet old Moses, I miss you on the back deck.  I miss you in the kitchen.  I miss you on the greenway.  But you are still teaching me, dear old faithful friend. O Father, help me to learn.
     Lord Jesus, "Teach us to number our days  that we may gain a heart of wisdom." (Ps.90:12)  Teach us--and then help us to step out in faith with whatever and however Your Spirit leads.
     Even if that simply means opening the door to the back deck to enjoy the sunshine with a beloved, old buddy.  Might we live each day to the full and all to Your glory, Lord.
     To God be the glory.