My childhood home in Central Texas was very much a post-war poster home. One level, one-car carport, kitchen, living room, dining room, three bedrooms and one bath for the family to share.
The greatest feature of the home, though, was the large corner lot and the collie dog Rover who roamed it. Rover was my bud. He was with me from sunrise to sunset. Playing. Patrolling. Protecting.
My bedroom window looked out to the back yard and was just under the large tree that cradled my tree house fort. Often in the mornings, Rover would come to my window, look in, and inform me that it was time to get up and visit.
While Rover was a loved part of the family, by Mom’s rules he was not welcome inside. While we had plenty of indoor pets … a parrot, a tank of guppies, Minnie the minnow and a rotating honed toad, frog, lizard or such … the dogs and cats were relegated to the great outdoors.
Now I can’t recall whether I was just looking for a way to get out of school or whether doctor mom had decided that I was too potent of a germ dispenser but one day I found myself stuck in my room. Too sick for school. Too sick to play. But feeling quite well and bored beyond imagination.
Rover shared the same problem. Rover couldn’t quite figure out how it was that I wasn’t at school and wasn’t outside playing. The two of us kept showing up at the window. A frustrated pair.
I’m not sure whose idea it was first, but Rover and I soon decided the Christian thing for Rover to do was to visit the sick that day. It was a multi-spank crime in our household to sneakily disobey. But we surmised there was little chance that we’d get caught. Rover could come in. Visit for a short while. And slip back out.
As quietly as I could, I slid open the window and unlatched the screen. Then with all the might a third-grader could muster I pulled while Rover pushed until we got him safely in the room. What a grand reunion it was. A tail wagging. A face grinning. A long hug. And a mom heading down the hallway.
Oops. There was no time to get Rover back out the window.
Quickly I got Rover and me under the sheets, him playing dead on command and me showing my sickest face.
“What’s in the bed with you?” Mom asked as she opened the door.
“What do you mean mom? It’s just me.”
“Steve. There’s a big breathing lump in your bed. Get that dog out of your room now!”
Out Rover went and in came thoughts of what my pain my posterior would experience when dad arrived home from work.
How could she have seen him? We were lying so still? He was so hidden.
And yet, we were so exposed.
Much like life today.
A compromised ethic here. An improper television show there. Little things we invite through the window and into our lives. And think we can hide.
“I see your ways”, our Heavenly Parent says, “and there are lumps in your bed.”
Maybe its time we finally get serious about kicking and keeping them out.
“Direct our footsteps, Lord, according to your word; let no sin rule over us.” Psalm 199:133.