“Hey man! Don’t be takin’ my donkey!”

That’s what I would’ve said if a couple of strangers came up to my house and started untying the family beast of burden. I mean, how will we get the firewood home, or take grandma to prayer meeting? You can’t just go around taking people’s stuff all willy nilly.

“The Lord needs it.”

Jesus told his friends to say that when He sent them to fetch the donkey. Apparently that’s all it took. The owner had no problem sending his valuable property with strangers. He wasn’t promised a great return on his investment. He wasn’t promised the donkey would be brought back fed and watered… or even returned at all.

All he knew was that the Lord needed something he had.

If I had a donkey, I can hear myself reasoning…

“Sorry guys. It’s the only donkey I’ve got. You’re gonna have to find yourself another mode of transportation. I just made the last payment. Had to finance it for seven years, but finally it’s all mine.”

“What? The Lord needs it? The Lord has everything. Why does He need MY donkey?”

I’m afraid me and my donkey would’ve missed the Jesus parade… the only one He ever had.

In fact, I think I would’ve missed a lot of things.

I don’t believe I would’ve climbed a tree to get a better look. People would surely laugh at a grown woman perched in a tree.

I wouldn’t have called Him up for a night time meeting so He could answer my questions either. What would the neighbors think?

I doubt I would have given my lunch to Him when everyone realized it was time to eat and there was no food. What good would my little pitiful sack lunch do?

And I KNOW I would not have stepped out of a perfectly good boat to go traipsing across the choppy sea. Who would take such a risk?

Not me.

In fact, everything is just fine the way it is. So Lord, I’m here for You… right here in my cozy house, with plenty to eat, and my nice warm bed, surrounded by things and people I love, with my precious donkey safely tied outside.

Hmmm… Sounds like a parade off in the distance.

I wonder what I’m missing.

 

Lynna Clark lives and writes in Salisbury.