Grandma Won’t Share! By: Pastor Jim Allen, ThD candidate

Ever since Christmas, there has been a territorial dispute in our living room that rivals the most stubborn wrestling match from my high school days. It all started when our daughter, Sarai, gifted Grandma a new blanket. Now, this isn’t just any ordinary throw; it is one of those impossibly plush, super soft, snuggly blankets that practically traps you in comfort. Naturally, it immediately became Grandma’s go-to accessory for her “Lazy Grandma” chair whenever she settled in to watch the Dodgers play. Now don’t you Cubs and Cardinals fans get all huffy... our daughter-in-law works for the Dodgers.

However, Grandma wasn’t the only one who appreciated the luxury of that fleece. Our seventeen-month-old, curly-haired Golden Doodle, Paddy, had been eyeing that blanket since the day Sarai pulled it out of the gift box. With his thick golden curls covering his eyes, he often reminds me of the sheep I used to raise back on the farm in Wisconsin—though, to be fair, none of my sheep ever talked back to me or had the boundless energy of a toddler!

The real trouble began a few weeks ago. Grandma inadvertently left the prized blanket unguarded on the couch. Paddy seized the opportunity, hopped up, and claimed the soft turf as his own. When Grandma returned, a tug-of-war ensued. They went back and forth, but on that particular day, Paddy won the battle. He curled into a triumphant, curly-haired ball of victory.

His reign, however, was short-lived. Later that afternoon, Paddy made a fatal tactical error: he left his post to go into the kitchen for a snack. Grandma, seizing her window, swiftly reclaimed her property. When Paddy trotted back into the living room and found his cozy throne usurped, he let her have it. He stood there barking at her, absolutely convinced that Grandma had just robbed him in broad daylight. This cold war over the snuggly blanket has been going on for weeks now, but it finally reached a boiling point last night.

I was sitting nearby, typing away on my laptop, trying to ignore the escalating rustling sounds across the room. Paddy was making several brazen attempts to grab the edges of the blanket with his teeth. Grandma was holding the line, pulling it firmly back into her lap and resisting his every move.

Suddenly, the situation escalated. Realizing his stealth maneuvers weren’t working, Paddy hopped up on his two back feet. Standing there tall on his hind legs, he started barking and yelling at her, throwing a full-on tantrum and using words we don’t allow in Pastor Jim’s house. Now, you have to realize something crucial about our family dynamics: absolutely no one—not our four kids, their spouses, our twelve grandchildren, and certainly not Grandpa—ever, ever, ever takes on Grandma.

Annoyed by the ruckus, I looked up from my laptop, ready to issue a stern pastoral rebuke. But before I could get a word out, Paddy turned his head toward me, thoroughly exasperated, and yelled, “Grandma won’t share!”

Without missing a beat, Grandma clutched the fleece tighter to her chest and shot back, “The blanket is mine!”

I had to bite the inside of my cheek. Sitting there looking at Grandma and my curly-haired Golden Doodle locked in a turf war, they looked exactly like two petulant children demanding their own way.

Seeing that neither of them was willing to surrender an inch of that incredibly soft Christmas blanket, I decided it was time to bring a little scriptural authority into the situation, much like maintaining order when I was a Sergeant in the USAF.

I looked over at the dog, who was still pouting near the couch. “Paddy,” I said firmly, “go get your Bible.”

Paddy huffed, crossed his front paws, and looked me dead in the eye. “I don’t want to,” he grumbled.

I didn’t raise my voice. I just looked at him with that classic dad-stare and calmly started the countdown.

“Three...”

Paddy held his ground, stubborn as a young ram refusing to be sheared.

“Two...”

I could see his resolve fracturing. It was like watching the structural integrity of a fiber optic cable bend just past its tolerance point.

“One...”

“Okay, okay!” Paddy sighed dramatically, throwing his paws up in surrender. “I’ll get my Bible.”

He trotted off and returned a moment later, nudging his well-worn Bible open with his nose. Amazingly, it automatically flopped open to the exact page he wanted. He tapped his paw triumphantly on the Gospel of Luke and looked up at Carol.

“Right here,” Paddy announced, his tail giving a self-righteous wag. “Luke chapter 3, verse 11! ‘He answered them, “He who has two coats, let him give to him who has none.”’ Grandma has her own sweater on and she also has the snuggly blanket. I am practically freezing. The theology is clear!”

Carol rolled her eyes and pulled the fleece tighter around her shoulders, completely unbothered by Paddy’s exegesis.

I had to suppress a chuckle. You must admire the dog’s hermeneutics, even if his motives were entirely self-serving. But it was time to correct his course and get the harmony back in the house, much like tuning the brass section of the school band.

“Nice try, Paddy,” I said, leaning forward. “But you’re conveniently ignoring the rest of the counsel. Go over to the book of Acts.”

Paddy let out a long, long groan and flipped the pages with his nose until he landed in the right neighborhood.

“Read Acts 20:35,” I instructed him.

Paddy squinted at the page and mumbled the Bible text under his breath, his ears drooping lower with every word. “...and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, that He himself said, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive.’”

He looked up at me, then over at Grandma, who was now smiling smugly from her Lazy Grandma chair, cozy as could be.

“See?” I told him gently. “If you let Grandma enjoy her blanket, you get the blessing of giving. Isn’t that better?”

Paddy let out a heavy sigh, flopped down onto the carpet with a thud, and rested his chin on his paws. His brain was probably processing the information faster than a high-capacity fiber optic network, trying to find a loophole. “I guess,” he muttered. “But a blessing isn’t nearly as soft as that blanket.”

I decided to press my advantage while he was feeling philosophical. “You know, Paddy,” I said, adjusting my glasses, “one of the reasons Grandma might be so hesitant to share her blanket with you is your... hmmm… modifications. You have a tendency to chew holes into things.”

Paddy’s head snapped up from his paws. The sheer indignation on his fluffy face was Oscar-worthy. “Not me!” he retorted, his curls bouncing defensively. “I am a gentleman!”

“Oh really?” I raised an eyebrow. “Are you forgetting my socks?”

Paddy waved a paw dismissively. “But socks are play toys! They practically come with a giant ‘Tug-O-War’ sign printed on them.”

“They could be play toys in your mind, but I actually need to wear them without my toes hanging out of the end,” I pointed out. “And let’s not forget the incident where you chewed a massive hole right through the middle of my blanket.”

Paddy looked away, suddenly intensely fascinated by an invisible speck of dust on the living room rug. “Well,” he mumbled, refusing to make eye contact. “I was much younger then.”

“Paddy, that was three months ago.”

“In dog years, that’s a lifetime!” he shot back, his tail thumping indignantly against the floor. “I have matured! My teeth are strictly for kibble and squeaky toys now!”

Over in her chair, Grandma just patted her pristine, hole-free Christmas blanket, perfectly content to let the “mature” Golden Doodle stay right there on the floor.

Pastor Jim Allen is the shepherd of Trinity Evangelical Church in Mount Vernon. Pastor Jim invites you to come and learn more about Trinity and the Bible by attending our Sunday morning worship at 10:10 a.m. Starting on Sunday, May 24 at 8 a.m., we will begin our Church on the River services at River Bend Park. Bring your dogs, pets, and even your in-laws!