How my dog taught me about love

Today, my dog of 14 years passed away. Her name was Sarah. I named her Sarah because I thought it was an awesome girl name in elementary school and I didn't know what else to name my dog. Our first night together, I slept next to her on the floor at my grandma's house, and she licked me in the face so that I could let her out to pee. I didn't even train her, so I was sure that I had a smart dog. But then, she went on to eat a caterpillar. What a weird dog :-).

We kind of grew up together. I spent a lot of my youth with her, especially during our first years. She was playful and we were playful and those were good times. But as I grew, I paid less and less attention to her. I had school, projects, girlfriends, friends, tv, sports to occupy my time while Sarah was all alone outside by herself. In a way, I feel guilty because I think my poor dog didn't really have a real friend. But I felt like she always understood. She always greeted me with excitement. In high school, she'd jump on me and try to lick my face everytime I greeted her. When I left for college, I'd see her in 6 month cycles, and even though I wasn't there for her for those years, it was as if she waited for me, loyally by my side, because she'd greet me with a jump, a weaker jump this time because of her age, but with so much excitement that she'd sometimes choke on her own spit. And finally, when I visited her again after I graduated from college, she greeted me with a wagging tail and a hop. She was weighed down by arthritis, partially deaf, and out of shape, but she still tried to jump and greet me the same exact way she had greeted me for the past 14 years. And that's when I realized that my dog loved me. That she saw past all my failures, my lack of care for her, my selfishness with my time, and she saw me as her master and friend. What I did against her didn't matter because she forgave me. Her final "jump" on me, helped me realize that it wasn't the "jump" that defined our greetings, it was her heart and what she meant to convey through her doggy mind, and that was - "I love you."

Sarah forgave me for everything that I did, and she stayed obedient to me throughout her life. I wasn't a good master nor even a good friend to her, but it didn't matter because all was forgiven.

I was thinking...If I put myself in Sarah's paws, I wouldn't have forgiven myself. I would have wondered why I was stuck with such a horrible master who never played with me, who was rarely home, and who was selfish with his time. But God calls us to forgive everyone, because He forgave us when we were so undeserving. Sarah didn't have to forgive me, she didn't have to love me, but in obedience to her master (me) she forgave and she loved.

I'm sitting here wondering how Sarah, a dog, could forgive such an undeserving master. It makes me want to go out and forgive everyone who've wronged me in the past who I have not truly forgiven. As I think about that some more, I start to ponder about God. Except this time, the tables have been turned. God is my master, and even still, He's forgiving me for every sin I've committed. I can almost see Him welcoming me with big open arms, kind of similar to Sarah's "jump,"- a strong heartfelt act that truly says, "I love you."

I think forgiveness is a part of love. In fact, I imagine love overcomes sin and that it's a sure path to forgiving others. I know that Sarah's life didn't go wasted, because if anything, in the end, God used her life to teach me about how love forgives.

"Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins."
- 1 Peter 4:38


R.I.P. Sarah Yim - October 23, 1996 - September 9, 2010.