Mr. Mactavish was gone. I wanted to wait until morning to see if he would come back on his own. But the look on the other family members' faces vetoed that idea. So we climbed into the car to begin looking for our wayward Scottish terrier.

As we drove down street after street, calling his name and peering intently into the darkness, even I became sentimental. What if he got hit by a car? What if someone else picked him up? What if we never saw him again?

We eventually found him. And by the time we did, I was as happy as the rest of the family to see him. Even though he was a mess—mud-soaked and foul-smelling—Mac was a sight for sore eyes. In fact, at that moment my family appeared to be far happier about finding and being with that dirty dog than we were about being with one another.

Does that mean we loved Mac more than we loved one another? Of course not. Neither does showing special affection for a repentant alcoholic, adulterer, or enemy indicate that we love others any less. It means that we have enough of God's love to celebrate with the kind of joy He feels when a dearly loved rebel comes home.

Is your heart full of love for the lost?    — Mart De Haan