We’ve never been a pet family, but a few months ago my parents adopted a dachshund mix that followed my younger brother on one of his cross country runs. When no one claimed him at the animal shelter, my parents brought him home and named him Miles— a nod to how he was found.
I’ve been amazed when I’ve visited home to find a bed for Miles inside the house and to hear stories of his regular trips to the pet store for his oatmeal baths.
I texted my mom one afternoon, joking about Miles’ new lifestyle and home: “Seven months ago, he was in the woods. Today he is getting oatmeal baths.”
My mom’s response: “That’s what God does for us.”
Leave it to mom to say something like that.
But I was struck by the perfection of it. Our old lives, the ones we knew before grace, are gone. You get a new life, a new promise, a new home.
It’s one of the most basic principles of Christianity, but the trouble is we get so tripped up when we bump into our past. So we wallow. So we say “I’m working on it,” and we think we don’t deserve the party.
The prodigal son didn’t expect a party, but he got one. He had left home and had squandered his inheritance and when he got home, he got a blowout.
I think we forget that our God is a God of grace. I think we forget that God promises oatmeal baths and parties for his people. I think we forgot that sometimes God just wants us to come home.
