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The Parable of the Lost Pointer

KAREN SWALLOW PRIOR: ‘When my dog slipped out one night and into the woods, we dropped everything to find her. Hours of searching turned into days. Each waking moment (which was most of them) was spent searching. Tramping through woods. Driving down country roads. Knocking on doors. Calling animal shelters. Handing out flyers. Sharing on social media. And praying. I prayed God would provide food for the dog who demands her dinner every day at 3:22 p.m. I prayed God would provide shelter for the dog who likes to sleep under the blankets. I prayed God would bring home the dog who, when we had brought her home two years before, was so tiny I could fold her in my hands like a prayer… The picture I will never get out of my mind is of me, standing in the woods behind our house, next to the railroad tracks, which are next to the highway, calling over and over into the thick bramble and brush, “Ruby! Ruuuuby! Ruuuuuuuuby!” But all I hear back is the sound of crying. My own crying.

Every night, I listened to the coyotes. Every day, I watched the sky for buzzards. I could barely eat. I thought about all the other prayers. Not the prayers for a lost dog, but the prayers for dying infants, broken marriages, wounded soldiers, tortured victims, hardened hearts, lost souls. Why should God give me the desire of my heart when so many others are denied? A Thursday became Friday became Saturday became Sunday. I awoke that morning, begging God, Please let it be today, God. Please bring her home today. Please. I cried all the way through church, through a message about giving up our striving and giving things over to God. “Are you at church?” a friend texted me during the service. “This sermon is for you.” I knew it was. Sunday evening, the call came’. SOURCE…

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