THE WORTH OF SOULS
This morning, stressed and anxious, and needing a run more than anything else in the world, I went on a hunt for my running shoes. After checking all of the usual places, you know, like the closet where they belong, I was shocked to find them beside the treadmill.
Apparently, Monday’s run had been quite the doozy.
However, I was even more stunned by what else greeted me there.
A present. A gift. A turd. A poo.
Whatever you want to call it, it is not something one hopes to find abandoned on their carpet.
The culprit of such a crime, as always, was obvious.
“Lulu!”
That dog had the gall to look me square in the eye, and act as if she had done nothing wrong. As if I was bellowing at her for no reason.
Wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong.
It was her. We all knew it was her. Everyone who reads this blog knows it was her. And this time, I even knew the reason behind such an act.
Revenge. Pure and simple.
After I refused to meet her unbelievable demands, Lulu had chosen to use the carpet as a toilet. You know, as one does, when seeking payback.
Would you like to hear something even more shocking, though? More shocking than poo or tennis shoes left by the treadmill?
Not four hours later, even as she used her tiny body to take up all of the room on my bed, I gave her a kiss. A kiss. Suddenly, seeing her stretched out and looking hideously adorable, all past grievances were immediately forgotten.
How, you ask?
Because I love her.
(Just don’t tell her that.)
Despite the evil glares, the constant escapes, and the footsteps in urine, I love that little brat.
This week, I taught a short lesson on the worth of souls, and as I was working through the thoughts in my head, an epiphany struck.
My soul is of worth to Him.
I mean, duh, I knew that, but as I explained that concept to four little boys, it really struck home. (Probably because it made complete sense that their souls had worth.)
My soul is of worth to Him.
He loves me. He wants to know me. He cares about me, and because so, He cares about what I care about. Whether it’s crying over another loss of a fictional character, or my outright anger at Germany being robbed by the refs, (which they absolutely were.) He cares.
When I think I am nothing, He reminds me that I am everything, everything to Him.
Even when I make a mistake. Especially, when I make a mistake.
I mean, that’s what it was all for, right? His sacrifice? His pain and His sorrow and His outright suffering? He experienced it all, so He could help me. So I’d feel comfortable turning to Him when things got tough or I made an obvious error. He wanted to help make me the best me, which could only happen with His help.
Which means, He sees me at my worst. He sees me when I am leaving poop on His floor, because I am angry and bitter at Him for not giving me what I want.
And yet, He never gives me what I want, because He knows it’s not really what I want. He loves me enough, to withstand the screaming and the crying and the messes on the floor, to make sure I get everything wonderful He has planned for me.
Does He ever rub that in my face when it inevitably comes to pass? When I am thanking him graciously for not answering my prayers? Does He turn His back on me during the trial, waiting patiently for me to see that He had been right all along?
No. Even though a lot of times, I really, really deserve it.
Instead, He remains at my side the entire time, supporting me and loving me through it all. And then, with loving arms and a kiss on the head, He helps me to clean up my mess.
Why? Because He loves me.
Because to Him, my soul has worth. Worth beyond my wildest imaginations, worth to suffer for. In every single thing He does, the Savior works to prove that truth to me.
He knows my worth. The Savior of the World.
So, why would I ever doubt it?
"Remember the worth of souls is great in the sight of God;"
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