My family has a dog. Kind of an over-grown, but oh-so-skinny mutt. We selected her at a shelter four days after our other dog was killed. Mason was the wonder dog with one weakness — bunnies. Jessie is a patient dog with one weakness — freedom.

We don’t have a fence — though we keep saying we’re going to add one. Instead, we give Jessie lots of freedom in the yard via a long thin cable. It’s at least twenty feet long and lets her reach most places a fence would.

But it’s not enough.

Jessie truly is an object lesson in the grass is always greener on the other side of anything. If her cable snaps, which happens after lots of use, she’s free. So she runs.

If the kids accidentally leave a door open, she’s free. So she runs.

If someone not familiar with our escape artist comes in without carefully shutting the door behind them, she’s free. And she runs.

And we chase. All over the neighborhood. Fortunately, she usually stays contained in the neighborhood, but that isn’t a guarantee of safety. Fortunately, she doesn’t get out more than two or three times a year…anymore. We’re getting smarter. She’s getting a wee bit calmer. Ever so wee bit.

But the last time she ran, it made me think about how I am with God. He gives me borders and boundaries for my safety. I don’t always like them. At the least little break, I’m running for what looks so much better. Then a carload of sin barrels down on me. I get thirsty from the effort. But I keep going, just like Jessie, until I weary and remember how much better I had it laying beside still waters in green pastures.