This Week's WOW 9/23

I hope you enjoy this devotional by Jim Kraus that I recently read. It certainly gave me something to think about! ~~ Sheri

     There’s something living under my front porch. Or at least, I think so. Maybe. My dog, Rufus, thinks so for sure.  I should back up a bit. When spring ended this year, I noticed some loose dirt at the corner of our concrete front stoop. We’ve had chipmunks living there in the past. Maybe they had invited friends. The dog would stare out the front door, his head cocked one way or another, as if listening to a private conversation. He would bark occasionally—at nothing, as far as I could see.

     I decided to trust him. I purchased a humane animal trap—one that catches the critters alive. I debated: Do I get the squirrel-size trap or move up to the raccoon/possum size apparatus? I opted to go big. I baited the trap with Cheez-It crackers. It was late, and I didn’t want to prepare the apple/peanut butter mix recommended by the trap maker.

     That night, Rufus started barking. A lot. We had hit pay dirt. Inside the trap, calm as anything, was a chunky raccoon. I called my son. After tossing an old blanket over the cage, we carried it to the back of the car and headed to a forest preserve several miles away. (If accused of breaking a law for doing this, I will deny any involvement.) The raccoon scurried away as soon as the door was opened.

     I think that solved the problem.

     But the dog wasn’t in on it. I had decided not to drag the captured animal in front of Rufus—no need to frighten either animal more than necessary. So every night since, the dog still examines that corner of the step, sniffing loudly and carefully. (There still may be some wild beast down there. At the end of summer, I’ll fill the hole with cement. If there are babies down there, I want them to be grown up and gone before I do that.)

     So, what’s the moral? Getting rid of the problem sometimes doesn’t get rid of the problem. To the dog, something smelled odd, out of place. I’m pretty sure the varmint is gone, but good dog Rufus remembers. He can still smell something. We can get rid of things, make them vanish—but the aura, the odor may remain. We can get rid of a sin or an attitude or a callous outlook—and claim victory. But to some, the scent of the sin remains. I don’t think this truth can be altered: it takes time for people to accept change in a person—especially if that person is going from bad to good. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try—but remember, changing perceptions, like getting rid of varmints, takes time.