The Cost
He was new to the neighborhood. His people had recently moved to the area and he wanted to get to know every sight and smell, every place to find a quick meal, every being in his new turf.
So exploring his new home he meandered wherever his nose, heart, and curiosity took him. The near neighbors had some interesting stuff and it took several days to explore, but his nose brought him just a whiff of interesting scents from farther on. Wandering about he found enticing aromas in front of people's homes--uneaten foods (okay trash to some) beckoned to him from flimsy containers.
His curiosity led his paws to dig--finding treasure galore. He unearthed them from their flimsy confines and freed them to escape as they chose. Some remained--some flew in the wind finding homes wherever they chose, decorating the landscape around them.
After freeing the captives of the flimsy bags along the street, his nose caught a more enticing smell. He met others of his kind along the way. Most held in by fences, but some joined him in the exploration. After a time, they would part ways as he continued on his adventure.
Soon he came to an interesting place. There were all sorts of smells--but not of his kind. They smelled familiar, yet somehow different that the tender morsels he had found to crunch from some of the flimsy bags earlier. These shared smells, but were different. He approached the smell with caution.
It squawked and moved startling him. Of course he followed his first instinct to bark it into submission. The strange feathered creature puffed itself up and flapped at him while making all sorts of noise. He approached it with caution. It struck at him with its head while mocking him in a cackle of laughter. He jumped back; approached it again. This time it ran.
Others of its kind ran out as well. He was soon in the midst of a cackling, mocking, pecking gang of feathered beasts. He barked them off. The backed off and then others surged toward him. He finally got it. They wanted to play tag.
He entered into the game with great gusto, tagging one then another. Occasionally a feather would strike him, but it was great fun. He played with the strange creatures for some time. Soon their hard headed companions joined the game. They bleated and blatted at him, running at him and occasionally kicking at him with their hard little hooves. They were not friendly. So as he tired of the game, he wandered off down the street towards his home. Perhaps it was time to cease exploring for the day.
Trotting away, a human yelled at him. He slowed, looking from the place where he had played and then toward home. He ignored the human, but picked up his pace a bit as he moved towards home. A loud noise split the air. He felt a sharp pain whip through his body. He fell. All ceased and the world turned black. His life's blood spilled onto the street.
Neighbors heard the sharp report of a gunshot. They rushed from their homes and found a beautiful English bulldog lying on the edge of the street--dead. Another neighbor stood with his rifle stilled in hand. When the dog did not arise, he turned and walked back into his home.
He felt justified in killing the dog. It was bothering his chickens and goats. No it hadn't hurt them, but it might. It messed with the wrong man's things. What was his was his. He protected his own.
The neighbors gathered around the body of the beautiful dog as it breathed its last--giving it some comfort so that it did not die alone. They were shocked that a neighbor could be so heartless. Yes, the dog had been a nuisance. Yes, its owners should have kept it in their own yard. Yes, it got into their trash, but surely someone could have just talked to the new people in town and warned them.
Then looking where the body of the dog lay and fear gripped their hearts. What if the shot had missed the dog? Where would the bullet have gone? Looking from the place where the man had stood, to the body of the dog, then on beyond the dog, their fear intensified. In a straight line from where the shot came was where their children played--still stood watching their parents as they stood around the dead animal.
Fear . . . anger . . . indignation . . . thanks for the safety of their children all flooded them at once. One person had acted without considering the cost of his actions. His sense of entitlement to "protect what was his" overshadowed the safety of others. It was bad enough that their children had to see something gunned down before their very eyes, but their lives were endangered as well.
The cost . . . what is the cost? What is the risk of our acting in anger? We can wrap ourselves in our rights, but at what cost? Innocent lives lost or injured. Violent acts imprinted on our minds and souls? What is the cost when we act in anger?
God, protect us from ourselves. Teach us to count the cost . . . not only to ourselves, but to others. Fill us with your wisdom, love, forgiveness, and grace. Help us know when to remain calm and doodle in the sand while others pick up stones to throw, destroy, and kill. Teach us when to throw over the tables of the loan sharks and drive those who prey on the weak and innocent. You have already paid the cost for us, teach us to treat one another with love and tenderness, loving our neighbor as ourselves. Fill us with you. Thank you for paying "the cost." So be it. Amen.
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