Myrtle the Miracle Dog (Part 4: The Marks of Abuse)

Possibly because of our dog Myrtle’s early abuse, she often acts indifferent to people. In spite of all our love, and in spite of Myrtle’s good life, she responds the same way to us. And it pains me to realize that before my Miracle, there were parallels in my own life.

I will not say I was abused as a child, but tragic things happened. And although it was nobody’s fault, the rocky path had the same effect. It left scars.

At times in my life, I was as unresponsive to God as Myrtle is to us. But not anymore. And I don’t ever want to go back there, either.

Myrtle’s scars are completely healed over now, and covered with the gray hairs that are her crown. Symbolically, the same is true for me. Although I will not know perfection until I reach heaven, Jesus, the Truth, healed me here on earth. He’s the Lover of my soul, my Valentine. The fact that I am alive and well, and not buried beside my sister, is proof to me that wonders happen. In some ways, I am a walking miracle.

My current screen saver says “loved” and is a reminder of this truth:

but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. (Romans 5:8 ESV)

While I was bad (and still am when my flesh wins out), Jesus Christ, driven by and embodying the only fulfilling kind of love there is, died as the solution for my inherent problem. I don’t ever, ever want to forget that beautiful truth.

To think that my Miracle dog is a maddening animal that points out my flaws is strange. And to think that my new life was born in a cemetery is ironic. But I’m thankful for both things. It feels rather full-circle, and that’s a good place to stop.

So, I’ll end with a photo of where it began, and will end again for me some day–at Myrtle Cemetery, where I found Myrtle, the Miracle Dog.

Thank You, Jesus.

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