Freckles Anyone?

If you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you probably remember the story of my little wiener dog J.R. and how he came to live with me after being abused for most of his short life. And if you remember J.R.'s story, you will also remember that he was the reason I was diagnosed with diabetes three years ago (and if you don't recall his story, you'll find a lot of posts about him in 2009 and 2010). If you're a more recent reader, you've probably read more than a post or two in which I mention my big dog Julie and my wiener dog Ollie who came into our lives six months after J.R. passed away. Ollie, like J.R., was rescued from a terrible environment where he was almost starved to death, had heartworms and a nasty skin infection, and his face had been shoved into a fire and burned. Sometimes I watch Julie and Ollie as they play, and I wonder at the way she loved both of her little brown dog brothers ... almost in a motherly way, almost as if she knew that they had been hurt and needed to feel safe and loved. And sometimes when Ollie climbs into my lap and snuggles in for a nap, I wonder at the way my two little injured and lonely wiener dogs took up with me ... almost in a childlike way, almost as if they knew they had finally found where they were meant to be, where they would be cared for and loved.

I've mentioned in previous posts about the scars on Ollie's face ... he has several from where he was burned, some deeper, larger and more prominent than others. As much as I hate to admit it, Ollie's scars were the first thing I noticed about him when I met him ... well, his scars and his crazy pink nose and pink toenails. But as I've grown to know and love Oliver the wiener dog over the last year and a half, I don't see his scars anymore. I still see his silly pink nose and toenails, but when I look at his face, all I see is a little dog who thinks the sun rises and sets in me ... I see a little dog who makes me smile ... I see a little dog who managed to wag his way into my heart just like J.R. did.

A couple of weeks ago when Ollie and I were out for our evening walk on the trail, a little boy came running up to us and asked if he could pet my dog. I said sure, and then said hello to his father as he joined his son. Ollie loves little kids, and as he often does, as soon as the little boy's face got near enough, he planted several wet dog kisses on the little guy's cheeks. The boy squealed with delight and then he looked up at his dad and said, "Look, Daddy! This little dog has freckles on his face! I've never seen a dog with freckles, Daddy, have you?" As the father glanced at me, I was instantly aware that he knew the spots on Oliver's face weren't freckles ... he knew they were scars from some sort of injury or wound. But as he patted his son's head, he said, "I don't think I have seen a dog with freckles before, buddy ... this little dog is the first freckled dog I've ever seen!" I managed to squeak out a goodbye to the two of them before the tears that had begun to fill my eyes spilled over onto my shirt as Ollie and I finished our walk.

As we made our way home, the words of the little boy and his dad's response pounded in my head as God spoke to my heart. "He didn't see your scars, Ollie," I said out loud as we walked ... "that little boy didn't see your scars ... he saw freckles, wiener dog ... the little boy saw freckles instead of scars." Talk about a lesson, friends ... God used a little child that evening to teach me something huge about who I am when I'm seen through His eyes. When I got home, I immediately went into my bedroom, flipped on the light and stood staring at myself in the large mirror that sits above my dresser. "I see scars, God ... I see scars instead of freckles. What do You see when You look at me? Do you see the scars left behind by the wounds and injuries of life, or do You see freckles that become more prominent in the light of Your Son? What do You see in me, Father? Scars or freckles?"

I have no idea how long I stood in front of my mirror that night, but I do know this ... God doesn't see me the way I see myself. God sees His dearly beloved child ... His child for whom He paid the ultimate ransom. God sees freckles ... God sees freckles ... God sees freckles where I see scars.