I remember the day I fetched Molly from the breeder. She wasn’t actually my first choice.

I was given a Yorkshire terrier puppy as a farewell gift when I left the church and my role as pastoral assistant to move to another city. Tosca, my Yorkie, was six weeks old. After her first night, when she missed her mother and her siblings, she settled down into a rambunctious, independent little bundle of mischief. I adored her, but she became a mystery to me.

I still continued to serve the church in a once-a-week capacity by travelling to my ex hometown to work in the office.

Two of Tosca’s siblings had been bought by my pastor and the playschool administrator with whom I stayed overnight every week. The three siblings spent two days every week romping and sleeping together in the office complex but, as soon as I arrived back home, Tosca would become a morose, even depressed little creature. She refused to eat and slept most of the day – until I realised that she was lonely. Another Yorkie as a companion would have been just too much so I settled for a miniature dachshund.

By this time, Tosca was five months old and Molly six weeks. At first, Tosca would have nothing to do with Molly because she couldn’t figure out what she was! However, after a few days, they became inseparable. Molly loved Tosca so much that she insisted on sleeping, not just in her bed but as close as she could to her, mostly lying against her or on top of her.

Then came the terrible day I shall never forget. I took Tosca to the SPCA to be spayed when she was six months old. Never imagining for a moment that anything would go wrong, I left her in the capable hands of the vet, only to receive a phonecall a few hours later from the distraught assistant to tell me that Tosca had reacted to the anaesthetic. I rushed out to the SPCA and there lay my little treasure, all the life with her energy and zest gone out of her. I was devastated!

Fortunately, I still had my little Molly. Needless to say, with her little canine companion no longer there to cuddle up to, she bonded even more strongly with me. My bed became her place of comfort! She has never slept anywhere else at night, as close as she can get to me, since that day.

Molly is truly mine. She loves people (at least those she knows)! She makes a huge fuss of my family and the friends who visit from time to time, but she knows to whom she belongs. When she is through playing or exploring the garden for snails, she comes running into the house and insists that I pick her up so that she can cuddle up on my lap and sleep in absolute contentment.

O, how our heavenly Father longs that we would know and understand what it means to belong to Him. I bought Molly with hard cash. He bought us with the precious blood of His Son! Molly is my pet. We are His beloved sons and daughters. Molly runs to me for protection, for food, and for comfort and companionship. Father God wants us to run to Him for every need and in every situation because He is our source. Without Him, we are nothing.

With great yearning after His wayward people. He urged,

“But now, O Jacob, listen to the Lord who created you, O Israel, the one who formed you says, ‘Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.’  (Isaiah 43:1 – NLT)

Jesus assured us:

My sheep listen to my voice; I know them and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one can snatch them away from me, for my Father has given them to me, and He is more powerful than anyone else. No one can snatch them from the Father’s hand.” (John 10:27-28 – NLT) 

Do you belong to Him?

Luella Campbell

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