It was a lazy Sunday afternoon. I hopped on the bed and curled up with my 37-pound black standard poodle, Mayflower.
As she lay there in my embrace, I scratched her, kissed all over her soft, poofy head, and told her that she was such a good girl. She took in every word as I gushed them out:
“You’re such a good girl. You’re Mommy’s baby. I love you.”
Her eyes caught mine as she begged for more: You’re Mommy’s good girl!
I began to smile and almost laughed out loud as I recalled her shenanigans that very morning. She chewed up some tissues that had been sitting on a side table. A couple of days ago, I came home to find my favorite pen gnawed to bits. And then there was an event a few weeks back when she made a feast of my throat lozenges with xylitol— landing us a trip to the vet with a $200 bill for the prize.
The truth is, she’s not really a good girl. She’s a spoiled-rotten mess of fluff.
Her character flaws? She bullies her big brother, Remi—an 80-pound standard who could easily put her in her place but won’t because he’s a gentleman. She steals food, barks a lot, begs relentlessly, is headstrong, and does not always do what she is told.
And yet, laying there with my arms around her, all those accusations faded away.
It’s funny just how quickly I forget her imperfections and begin showering her with words she so loves to hear:
“You’re such a good girl; you’re my baby!”
My thoughts brought me to a standstill as I began to wonder if that is just how God sees me.
I recalled a Bible verse I had recently memorized that talks about how God forgives us when we confess our sins to Him. Not only does He forgive, but He makes us new—even righteous.
“If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9 NIV).
How He can forgive our sins and call us righteous has me perplexed.
Me? Righteous?
I mean, I can accept the title of forgiven, but I have a hard time calling myself righteous. How is that even possible? I mess up every day. I make mistakes. I’m not always loving or careful with my words. I have a self-centered nature, and I’m stubborn . . . just like my rotten Mayflower!
And yet my God—my heavenly Father—quickly forgives me, wraps His loving arms around me, and calls me righteous.
He calls me His child.
How does the King of kings—the Lord of all creation—forget so quickly what a mess I am?
This questioning brings to mind another Bible verse found in the book of Isaiah: “I, even I, am he who blots out your transgressions, for my own sake, and remembers your sins no more” (Isaiah 43:25).
Wow! He chooses not to remember my sins.
Can God forget? No. It is His choice not to remember. I have always thought of forgetfulness as a weakness, but maybe sometimes it is a strength. God can do anything He wants to do, yet He loves us so much that when we repent of our wrongdoings—over and over again—He chooses not to remember them.
That kind of love blows me away.
But then I think about Mayflower. In all of her misbehavior and spoiled-rotten ways, I love her. I forgive her quickly. And I call her “good girl.”
I call her mine.
So maybe righteousness isn’t about being perfect, as I’ve always believed.
Maybe it’s about belonging to God—being fully known, forgiven, and loved by Him—and finally learning to relinquish guilt and self-condemnation. Maybe it’s about believing Him when He calls me forgiven—when He calls me His own.
If I can have this kind of love toward Mayflower, how much MORE does my heavenly Father love me?
He invites me to stop arguing with His grace and simply receive it—to rest in being loved, forgiven, and claimed as His own. Not because I’ve earned it, but because His mercy is that great.
Today, I am choosing to believe Him. I’m choosing to be grateful.
I’m choosing to rest in a grace that is so big that it wraps its arms around me and says, “I love you. You are mine.”
Even on my most spoiled-rotten days.
