Dad was raised in church, but has always cautioned me to keep religion out of my posts. A: there are other places for that, and B: more times than not, the “religious” approach is either so heavy handed that it unneccesarily offends or so saccharine that it sickens.
On our last trip out west, dad met a self-proclaimed agnostic follower of my scribblings in Moab, UT who said, ” I have to ask; are you a Christian?”. He didn’t know it, but he had given dad a huge compliment, because that statement told us that the posts had made him pause and consider without being offended.
It would be very easy to draw the analogy between the story of the crate and the story of the tomb, but even I won’t go there. As tempting as it is to compare the relationship between man and God to that between dad and myself, that love provides much better motivation than the threat of eternal punishment, such a comparison skirts a little too close to sacrilege.
I’m a simple-minded dog, and I respond to a simple-minded message, so regardless of who you call “dad” on this Easter Sunday, please consider:
Without Him, there would be no “this”.
I will now utter the words most feared by anyone who has every suffered a long winded sermon: “before I dismiss, please turn with me to (insert scripture here)”. In this case, it’s Psalms 23, the Charlie Bravo Version.
The dad is my servant, I shall not want
I maketh him to lie down without covers, I hoggeth the bed with the others.
He restoreth my roll: he taketh me on the motorcycle when he would ride solo.
Yea, though I wreak havoc when others would slumber, I will fear no evil: for I am the Charlie; dad’s bark and his bite, they amuseth me.
He preparest a table before me in the presence of mine other inmates: he anointest my head with Frontline; the toilet bowl runneth over.
He leadeth me beside dewy grasses, and waiteth until I do my business, yea, even if I am eternally indecisive as to the ordained location.
He casteth me into outer darkness, only to letteth me back in with weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, as I shall importunately charketh to the heavens until my will is fulfilled.
Verily I sayeth to thee, she that tooteth not her own horn getteth it not tooted.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the Casa del Whackos for ever.