At the time, it seemed like a good idea.
I was a late-20s single man; I’d been promoted to managing editor of a small daily newspaper in northeast Wisconsin; I’d just purchased my first house. And I wanted to get a dog – a boyhood desire that my parents long refused.
So, off to the pet store I excitedly went to purchase all the necessary provisions: bowls for food and water, brushes and leashes, bouncy balls and squeaky toys, a bright-red collar and a big bag of kibble. Days later, a friend connected me with Sadi, a 70-pound German shepherd who’d just flunked out of police K9 school and needed someone to adopt her. That someone would be me. Like I said, at the time it seemed like a good idea.
And indeed those first weeks were near-magical. It felt like we were meant to be. Sadi took to me and her new home like a fish to water, and we quickly became best buddies. I loved the way her tail wagged with delight when I came home from work. The tans, blacks, and browns of Sadi’s coat were absolutely stunning, and the way she swiveled her tall, perky ears to catch even the slightest sound was endlessly fascinating. Come nighttime she’d hop in bed and snuggle around my feet.
No matter that she smelled like a dog; I thought the odor was cute. Dog hair on floor and furniture was manageable with the help of a new, $400 vacuum and its vast array of cleaning attachments. So what if Sadi barked at squirrels and mailmen every now and then? She was just protecting our property. And those long daily walks were good exercise for me, too. But of course, as you might have experienced, the novelty of co-habitating with a dog soon began to wear thin.
Healthy dogfood was expensive, and Sadi ate a lot of it. Sometimes she’d eat too much too fast, and the contents of her upset stomach came flying out onto what always seemed to be a carpeted floor in the middle of the night. So also with occasional canine intestinal issues that manifested themselves as diarrhea. Then she went into heat, which came with another set of toxic fluids and noxious smells. Having her spayed ran me another $400.
Nevertheless, Sadi was my dog – as my mom and dad warned in denying me a childhood pet, not just my dog when I wanted to play, not just my dog when she was behaving well, not just my dog when her internal biology was working as the good-Lord intended. Sadi was my dog. In sickness and in health, as it were. To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer. In dryness and wetness as long as we both shall live.
One day, while hauling yet another 50-pound bag of dogfood from the trunk of my car and into the house, I finally admitted it: I am stuck with Sadi. The courtship had ended; the honeymoon was over. Option had become obligation; cherished pet had become daily chore. Maybe getting a dog wasn’t such a good idea after all. Oh well!
Chances are, you too have experienced the tedium and claustrophobia borne of commitment and relationship. Only it’s not “she’s your dog.” Instead it’s “he’s your husband.” Or, “she’s your wife.” Or, “he is your father, brother, or son; she is your mother, sister, or daughter; your boss or employee, your roommate or classmate – whatever the relationship that demands commitment and loyalty for mutual survival and success.
When relationships get messy, some opt to flee – only to discover that the grass really isn’t all that much greener on the other side of the fence. Others fight: households become combat zones, workplaces and classrooms become boxing rings, tension and discord become part of your dysfunctional routine. Others, however, cultivate a different field of play. They sow and nurture the seeds of forgiveness. These are the words of the apostle Paul to the Colossians –
As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.
Bear with one another and, if anyone has a complaint against another, forgive each other; just as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. Above all, clothe yourselves with love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in the one body. And be thankful.
Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly; teach and admonish one another in all wisdom; and with gratitude in your hearts sing psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him. (Colossians 3:12-17)
None other than Jesus himself likely knew the feeling of being glued at the hip to others who were irritatingly different and thus challenging to love.
For three years, Jesus basically runs with the same crowd. By and large, around the clock, his inner circle is unbroken. Jesus sees the same dozen-or-so faces around dinner table and campfire. They walk the same roads, sail the same boats, visit the same places. Jesus not only tolerates their flukes and quirks but also hears their innermost thoughts and well knows their unspoken doubts.
Yet Jesus loves Peter, knowing full well that Peter eventually will deny him – not once, not twice, but thrice. Jesus loves Thomas, already expecting Thomas to one-day question the Lord’s resurrection. Days before his crucifixion, Jesus lovingly endures the caterwauling of his disciples over which of them is the best. Through these and likely countless other scenes of intra-apostolic bickering not recorded in Scripture, Jesus continues to love and continues to abide. Because Jesus forgives. The powerful muscle that beats deep within his chest is a heart of forgiveness.
And the gift of that same forgiving heart is precisely what Advent prepares us to receive come Christmas.
A forgiving heart is the Lord’s over-the-top gift, and its extravagance makes it tempting to refuse. “Oh, you didn’t have to get me anything, Jesus.” Which is our instinctive response around the Christmas tree when a present far-exceeds our expectation. Of course, that’s just our Iowa-nice way of telling Jesus that forgiving another is simply too hard. The hurt is too deep, the wounds so many; you cringe at the mere sight of the other.
And perhaps that’s your problem. Maybe you’re seeing the wrong person – or at least too much of the wrong person. Remember that the secret-sauce to having a heart like Jesus is “fixing your eyes” on him. So, glance away from the one who wronged you and set your sights on the One who saves you: the One who, at his Last Supper, humbles himself to wash the feet of the 12 men with whom Jesus was “stuck” through it all.
Holding fast to a heart of forgiveness is to kneel and touch the grubby parts of the people with whom we are stuck and wash away their unkindness with kindness. As we heard from the apostle Paul, humble ourselves in loving kindness, forgiving the other as God in Christ forgives you and me.
No, you might not have done anything wrong. No, you aren’t the one who cheated, or stole, or lied. No, you are not the guilty party. But neither was Jesus. Of those men gathered in that Upper Room, Jesus is the only one worthy of having his feet washed. The only One worthy of being served decides to serve others. The burden of repairing the breach falls upon the strong not the weak.
In the end, relationships don’t thrive – wounds are not healed – because the guilty are punished but because the innocent are merciful.
A friend recently shared the plight of weathering the storm of infidelity within his marriage. He had a fling with another woman; his wife found out, and she understandably was deeply hurt. A decision had to be made: Flee, fight, or forgive? So, they went away together for a couple weeks to work through their heartbreaking conflict and process their raw emotions. They talked; they prayed, then talked some more. Long walks afforded opportunities for reflection; dinners together nourished body, soul, and spirit.
By all rights, the wife could have given her husband the boot or walked away entirely. Women have done either for far-less cause. Or, she could stay and make her cheating husband’s life a living hell. Other women have done that, too. But she chose a different path. About a week and a half into their trip, my friend found a notecard on his pillow. Its printed verse read, “I’d rather do nothing with you than something without you.” In her own hand the wife wrote, “I forgive you. I love you. Let’s move on.”
The card easily might have been a basin of water. I’m reading to you from the Gospel of John –
Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. The devil had already put it into the heart of Judas son of Simon Iscariot to betray him.
And during supper Jesus, knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he had come from God and was going to God, got up from the table, took off his outer robe, and tied a towel around himself. Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the disciples’s feet and to wipe them with the towel that was tied around him.
After he had washed their feet, had put on his robe, and had returned to the table, he said to them, “Do you know what I have done to you? You call me Teacher and Lord – and you are right, for that is what I am. So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have set you an example, that you also should do as I have done to you.” (John 13:1-5, 12-15)
Let every heart prepare him room. At this time, that seems like a really good idea.
Amen, and amen.
Pastor Grant M. VanderVelden shared this message on the second Sunday of Advent, November 16, 2025, at First Presbyterian Church in Waukon, Iowa, USA. Adapted from the reflections of Max Lucado, it is the second of Pastor Grant’s Advent sermon series, “Let Every Heart Prepare Him Room.”