ROSIE

She's the best type of dog to have around the house. Not too big, in fact not big at all, a coloured mixtureA of black and brown shades with a very waggy tail and roughish hair. She has a wonderful temperament, which is often missing in one so small. Many times I've been confronted by tiny terriers or, more correctly, tiny terrors, who feel the world owes them something and in the time that they have remaining on earth, intend to get it, usually as a large bite out of your leg. I've been the part owner / keeper of many such small dogs and i have to admit have never felt totally at ease in their company, with a wrong movement or word often responsible for a sudden change of mood into something altogether more frightening. I call it 'small dog syndrome'. Having witnessed something similar in some small men, I guess it's rather appropriate. 
Rosie's not like that at all. Content to lie in the conservatory for hours in the warm spring afternoon, stretched across the mat in front of a roaring winter fire, or simply soaking in the warm summer rays while sprawled across the picnic table, she appears equally at home in any of those locations.   Which is a bit of a surprise, since home for Rosie is about one hundred metres along the road at our neighbour's house!
Some days, we don't see her at all and a whole week might pass before she suddenly reappears, tail wagging and ready for some tlc. Often, it's the sharp, invisible bark at the conservatory door that heralds her arrival and she manages to continue calling until somebody appears at the door and grants her entry. Then it is as if she has just discoved her long lost cousin all over again as she scampers around the house, jumping up and down, tail fully operational and just waiting to be affectionately embraced. After this initial welcoming period, she soon calms down, finds her cushion, plays with it for a short while and eventually curls up and falls asleep for the next hour. And so the pattern is repeated on every occasion, until, probably aware that dinner is awaiting at another location, she approaches the door and silently requests to be allowed to leave.
Some time back, she disappeared for longer than usual and after a full week of non-appearance, we began to wonder and probably fear for her safety. Until one afternoon, a little, well-groomed dog with the same colouring waddled down the road. It didn't look like Rosie but the wagging tail could have belonged to no other. She had been on holidays, to a pet make-over far away and now looked years younger than the little grey hairs under her chin suggested. I began to fully understand why so many people choose to subject themselves to cosmetic enhancement for if they felt and looked as good as Rosie now did, there had to be some merit in their efforts. Unfortunately, in Rosie's case, the enhancements were not sustainable. After all, it is a dog's life and they don't spend their lives staring into a mirror when there are holes to explore, cats to chase and food scraps to gain. And of course they don't sleep in a cosy bed with pressed sheets and electric blanket. And anyway, who's going to tell them when they need to comb their hair or wash their face. So, over time, Rosie has returned to what she once was, until the next makeover, I presume, and in some strange way, I prefer her as she is, ungroomed, rough and ready but still loveable.
But I've learnt something. The easiest pet to look after is the one you don't own nor have to feed. The one that is an occasional caller for tidbits, warmth and a bit of loving care but the one to which you don't have to be committed. Is that the way my faith could be summed up? Faith when it suits, maybe on a Sunday or in the right company, but something I can set aside when I don't want to be committed . A faith where I can enjoy the emotion of a worship song, feel the presence of a Creator as the sermon is preached, show compassion to others in their times of trouble, utter the right words and phrases when it is appropriate,  but then be happy enough if my faith goes AWOL for days or even weeks. And that's not all. The little dog reminds me that no amount of covering up can hide the real me in the sight of God. He sees what I protect others from seeing until of course the cracks in my camouflage  reveal exactly what is in my heart. How often I have read that verse in 1 Samuel 16 as the prophet attempts to find God's chosen king for Israel and as he rejects yet another son of Jesse, God reminds him, "Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” Is my life a reflection of my heart and of God's presence in my life? Is yours? Just a couple of scraps to chew on.