The Fringe Counts!

My dog, Buckley (otherwise nicknamed the Mighty Wonder Buck—my husband is into superheroes and such things) loves to play tug-o-war….with anything.  Sticks, his flying disc, that colorful rope thing tied in big knots, shoes (if I let him, which I don’t). 

The challenge is that this particular game of his tends to wear out the playthings, because as affable and loving and gentle in nature as Buck is, his teeth are impressive. Thankfully, it doesn’t occur to him that he could rip my hand off.

So after a while, playing tug-o-war with his rope becomes tug-o-fringe.  This, however, does not deter him in the least.  In fact, the ratty old rope—or what’s left of it—is generally the first toy he pulls out of his box to entice me to join him in some all-out contest of strength. (Just for the record, the one with the opposable thumbs generally wins.)

The Buck is not intimidated by his worn-out things—to him they are still functional without a second thought.  It occurs to me that God is not intimidated