Old Dogs

"I haven't written a blog in a while. I thought I would post this one, since it has been in my drafts for over a month now. I had a dream. It's a long story. Let's just say it involved me, a puppet show, and Satan's biggest hammer taken to my Achilles heel."

My mind begins to wander aimlessly, across the interstate of dreams, until it intersects with nightmarish desolation. I am at the doorstep of the ghost that haunts me, and I don't want to step inside.

Old dogs have lived in your home longer. They've walked down your hallway. They've guarded your house. When something you've always wanted appears in front of you, will you ostracize the old dog in favor of a newer, more compact model?


Nothing haunts me the way this does. What happens to the ones who were once loved? This anxiety plagues no one the way it does the old dog. For everyone else, the newness is a novelty, because so many have been fed the mantra that "all change is good change".

The old dog is an orphan; he begs at your bedside for a morsel of favor. He longs to become all that you ever wanted, but his incapability is evident in his actions, his bark, his stature. Do his inadequacies make him any less worthy of your favor, especially when his desire to win your favor rises above every failure?

The old dog is a ghost, but remains even after he is forgotten.

The Captive Mind

I am a most terrible lover. I spend my time telling the One I love that there is no other, no worldly idol that gets in the way of our relationship. I tell myself that by listening to the right music, or choosing not to watch the wrong programs, I am doing God's work, as if I have a quota of upright deeds to meet every day, leaving hours of time to burn. In reality, my love for Him is flawed beyond my own belief. I praise Him with my mouth, but my actions reflect those of a calloused criminal, that is until the moment after my weaknesses materialize. It is then that I am thrown into the depths of my own defeat, thrust into further insecurity and self-loathing. What hurts most of all is the thoughts I am plagued with: "You are not saved" or "Your chance has passed." There is an endless roster of the enemy's most disparaging claims about Seann Combs.

In each occurrence, there is the crucial moment where I must make one of two decisions: to continue in His direction, or defeatedly run with my tail between my legs in the opposite direction. In each past occurrence, I have wittingly or unwittingly chosen the latter, leading to further insecurity, increased bitterness, and intensified rage. It wasn't until recently, when faced with my recurring ultimatum, that I realized my foolishness in the past.

To abandon joy based merely on the first incident of defeat is as if I am denying Christ's ability to do a work in each of us. If I don't believe that Christ can love me, then He can't love anyone, because what would make me so special that I would be His exception? Why would I be the one soul that can never be cleansed by the blood?

That's just how the enemy gets those cogs turning in my mind. He wields my past shrewdly, a weapon of great magnitude when used adversely. He tempts me with sinful, self-destructive thoughts, and then waits in the bushes for me to commit the sin. Satan knows that once I have committed the sin, I will feel isolated from the very One to whom I should run. If I am at the point where I don't consider myself capable of being forgiven, the enemy has done his job.

That is precisely why I have chosen the path of most resistance, clinging steadfastly to what I have read in God's word. My mother always says she doesn't want to give the enemy too much credit; I was practically handing him "Employee of the Month" through my doubt. In the battlefield of the mind, there are booby-trapped caverns that if we are not careful, will make the sharp decline from detour to destination. By asking God to hold my thoughts captive, the fear subsides, and by faith, I continue in Him, careful not stop and see the sights, or submit to the advertisements along the way.