A phone charger ended mommy.
At least, that's how she explained it to daddy through the gigantic rainclouds in her eyes when he came home last week.
Ended her. Like an empty food dish does to me, cackling with its clanging, metallic nothingness the more I howl.
But a phone charger does not have ending power on mommy. It is only a piece of plastic with a strange tail. And, though it has somehow hypnotized the human mind into thinking it owns every aspect of human life, mommy is not easily convinced of such foolishness. She always says the only tail that moves her heart or changes her mind is the wagging of mine. And I believe her.
So the day the rainclouds took over her eyes, I knew there was more to their presence than plastic. They were a cumulonimbus - that's a fancy way of saying a bazillion little drops that are powerless on their own came together to build a very ginormous wall that makes seeing past it hard and being seen in it impossible.
That's what happened, long before the phone charger was blamed. A wall made of a bazillion little things built itself up over the last few years. And this year, that wall threw punches that mommy and daddy didn't see coming. Then the wall stood there for months, convincing mommy that nobody saw them anyway.
Who am I?
That's what mommy asked every day.
Who am I that my job says says I'm dispensable?
Who am I that my church sees me as disposable?
Who am I that my talents have no place and my passions have no purpose?
Who am I that I'm simply a commodity in this world?
A note of clarification: A commodity is nothing like a commode, though they sound almost the same. A commodity, according to mr. merriam and his friend webster, is a product that can be bought or sold for its usefulness. A commode, is a cold seat where people poop. But, as mommy explained it, sometimes a person can feel like a commodity disposed in a commode when he or she becomes useless.
Mommy, you're not poop, I said to her with my eyes. You're God's child. His beloved. More important to him than all the stars in the heavens.
But mommy's eyes were so clouded. The cumulonimbus was so high and so thick, she couldn't see me no matter how easily I could see her.
I bet that's what's happening with her and You, Jesus. She can't see You no matter how easily You see her, but I can help.
So I got really close to mommy, and I stared at her as hard as I could.
You are the very reason Jesus stepped away from heaven, mommy.
She just scratched my ears.
I leaned in closer and stretched my eyeballs. Actually, I can't stretch my eyeballs, but I made my eyelids as wide as I could and pressed my head into her lap.
Jesus sees you, mommy. I see you. Daddy sees you.
I stared so hard and with such intent, that mommy asked me if I needed to go poop.
But when we came back inside, I let not my shrubby commode take away from my task at paw. For the rest of the day, I seared my glare into mommy's eyes.
Jesus made the stars, mommy, and he knows each one by name. Like Stella, who is always the first one in the sky to twinkle when the sun goes down. Or Celeste, who looks kind of orangey and then yellow and then orangey again. And Bob. Remember Bob, mommy? He pops up right over the tree in the back yard. Jesus made them all, and they're beautiful, but he made you in his glory.
I circled her every step with four of my own. I clung to her like hope at Jesus's feet.
But my efforts only got me a lot of treats, several belly rubs, and an extra walk. And, after daddy got home that day and heard about the phone charger, mommy also told daddy I seemed extra needy.
Needy?! I'm not needy... though I could use a tongue that forms audible and comprehensive language. Oh, what wretchedness to have a tongue whose sole greatness is the ability to lap up a half a cup of water at a time!
And, with that, I flopped myself on the floor feeling ever much the commodity for Jesus that mommy did that day.
Oooh... I could use some water, though.
So I went to my water bowl and refreshed myself while daddy took mommy in his arms and swayed her around the kitchen a few times. Then he grabbed my leash. And on our evening walk, Stella and Celeste and Bob all came out to see us. Mommy took notice.
"Who am I," she said, "that the God of the universe who makes such stunning things as the stars and the sky cares so much about me? Me, a commodity."
"You are not a commodity" daddy answered. "You are God's child, his beloved, and more important to him than all the stars in the heavens"
That's what I tried to tell her! I licked at daddy's hand.
And as they talked about their day and their hearts and all that they saw God doing and all that they hoped God would do, mommy mentioned my attentiveness once more.
That's when daddy patted my head. "He sees us," he said, "and he is mindful of us."
The same is true about Jesus and you.