MAX
We called him Max, short for a famous coffee brand Maxwell, because Dan and I loved coffee and Max was as black as a freshly made brew. He was a rottweiller, just a month old when we got him from a friend. As he grew older and bigger, it was evident that although people feared him, he truly was just a ‘puppy at heart’ that got a little older every year. He can be tough and ferocious when he wanted to, his booming bark scaring the wits out of the garbage collector one time when he escaped and causing the bill collector to miss a step or two, when given a Max surprise attack. With us however, a long “Maaaxiii” call will send him scurrying to our feet, hurriedly sitting, lying down and rolling over so he could get a pat and a tummy rub. It wasn’t hard to give.
We called him Max, short for a famous coffee brand Maxwell, because Dan and I loved coffee and Max was as black as a freshly made brew. He was a rottweiller, just a month old when we got him from a friend. As he grew older and bigger, it was evident that although people feared him, he truly was just a ‘puppy at heart’ that got a little older every year. He can be tough and ferocious when he wanted to, his booming bark scaring the wits out of the garbage collector one time when he escaped and causing the bill collector to miss a step or two, when given a Max surprise attack. With us however, a long “Maaaxiii” call will send him scurrying to our feet, hurriedly sitting, lying down and rolling over so he could get a pat and a tummy rub. It wasn’t hard to give.
It was the Easter holiday and no business establishments were open so that when we noticed Max looking kinda sick, I was hoping that he would shake it off like any other illness he got. It was the morning after Easter when I noticed his heavy and fast breathing that was usually a sign of acid building up from a generalized infection. He tried to get up when I patted and called him and when he finally did, it turned out that he used up his last ounce of energy. I tried to give a little bit of first aid, a little oral hydration and medication, but it was too late. He succumbed too fast. I watched him helplessly as he took his last breath. We eventually had to wrap him up, and as we did, I couldn’t help but cry over poor Max. I grieved at how he suffered and I cried over my neglect, but my cries were too late. I should have done what I could while he was still alive. I had lost my chance.
It was then at that moment the thought came: How many of my loved ones, my family and friends, have I known to be aching and needing comfort and care? How many of them are in need of God’s Word yet I haven’t shared it with them enough and as often as I could? The Lord spoke to my heart-- if I could cry like so over my poor dog, how about my loved ones—my family and friends that I care so much more about and love so deeply?
Man is plagued by a spiritual illness to which I have found a cure, a cure that has brought me joys untold but have I done my best to impart it? Have I really tried? How long do I wait before I tell them? I pray I won’t wait ‘til it’s too late.
“How many are the lost that I have lifted
How many are the chained I’ve helped to free
I wonder have I done my best for Jesus
When he has done so much for me.”
Act 4:29 “And now, Lord … grant unto thy servant, that with all boldness (I) may speak thy word”
Phil 1:20 According to my earnest expectation and my hope, that in nothing I shall be ashamed, but that with all boldness, as always, so now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death.
