The Puppy Parable
I came outside to have my devotional this morning. Caramela, the sweetest boxer puppy this side of the equator, was overjoyed to see me. She knows me and knows that I am the source of her joy. For many days now, she has been tied down - not by me, but by others due to her own shortcomings. This sweet puppy has yet to learn not to pee on the floor. As I came out to untie her so that she can spend time with me she became very excited and jumped and wagged her tail. Caramela's been lonely through the night, and spending time with me is what she needs. But she was still tied down, and that leash tangled her with many problems. One of those was a glass jar left out to be recycled. As she pranced the jar crashed to the floor; I had to sternly tell her to stay away so that she wouldn't harm herself on the shards. I settled down on the bench and invited her to join me. "Yes," I thought, "this is how it is supposed to be."
I was surprised when a few short minutes later, another dog passed by and Caramela joined the crowd to bark and chase after it. "What happened my dear? I thought this was our time." She came back and wandered all around me - to the left, right and even below my chair - but she didn't come back to me. Then, she found a piece of glass that I had missed. It was sticky and still sweet and she began to lick it. In my surprise that she didn't yet understand that this glass was harmful, I waited a moment before going to retrieve her. As I placed her back on my lap I was torn between hoping that she hadn't been hurt, and hoping that the glass had cut her so that the next time she would trust me and know that the sweetness was only a deceptive sheen. As we sat, I could feel how much faster her short heartbeat is than my slow rhythm. I have a soft spot for her, and I want her to be well.
The Porch Parable
Another day, I was in the midst of caring for grandmother, when two children rode by one bikes. Seeing a fruit tree heavy with cashew fruit just a few feet from my fence they slowed. In this country, my light skin marks me as foreign, and the people will assume that I do not know the language and culture before they will assume that I do. We looked at one another for some moments. Grandmother called, "I think they want some fruit honey." Indeed, they were not the first to stop and gape at our overripe tree while I was working in the garden. Shades of red show in the tree and the crimson pear shaped ones are the best. But the family doesn't much like this fruit tree that just happens to be in their garden - another two feet and it would have been out on the street for all - so the fruit falls uneaten to the ground where the gardener sweeps it up for the trash heap. People had come by the other day to ask if they could do the work of harvesting it. They would sell them in the street and, like the many other who sell bananas and coconuts, would have provided for their families. But our family was busy with its own affairs and I said it would be better for them to come back another time.
So I looked at the boys, and they looked at me; I knew that I could communicate, but felt rather shy seeing these needy strangers. I had many things to do yet that day, but their request was a small one so I honored it. Not really knowing which fruit would be best, I passed over many large, crimson but cracked fruits and finally settled on two small, pinkish but perfect fruits which I tossed over the fence to them. Only later would I learn that those cracked fruits which might make me sick would not harm the local people steeped in the local water from birth. The younger boy caught one, then the second and I was happy to see that this child knew enough to share with his brother. They took a bite and began to ride away. "God bless you!" I called out as they rode away.
God will have to, because I didn't.
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