Fierce Beauty by Kim Meeder

evil. Finally the source of Dakota’s four months of continuous suffering was fully revealed. Having passed through the dog’s throat and beneath her shoulder blade, the lethal intruder was wedged against her spine. It was
an arrow
!
    The triple-bladed razors of a two-inch stainless-steel broadhead floated into view, with an eight-inch section of graphite shaft
still
attached. The projectile lodged within her body was
ten inches long
. The protruding remnants of the shaft did not exhibit the splintering break of an accident. It was obvious that the arrow’s shaft had been intentionally and cleanly cut with a smooth edge just below the surface of Dakota’s throat. Someone somewhere had done this on purpose and then tried to hide the deed.
    Yet what confounded us the most was that Dakota was able tomaintain the life of a normal dog with a nearly foot-long, razor-sharp weapon buried deep inside her chest.
    How was it possible that she lived at all?
    Because the arrow had miraculously passed through Dakota’s neck without severing any vital structures, Dr. Shawn knew it would be far too dangerous to try to retrieve the razored projectile the same way it entered. Instead, he opted to remove it dorsally through a large incision that he carefully made on her back. Once the arrow was extricated, Dakota made a complete and nearly instant recovery.
    In no time she was bounding around the property. One evening while preparing for a ranch fellowship, I watched her as she bounced in delight, a knotted rope toy in her mouth. She had just stolen the treasure from a group of small boys who now chased after her with squealing abandon. From then on it was always easy to find Kelsie on the ranch. One only needed to follow the white dog with the charming black patch over her eye.
    I look at that arrow, propped up in a green, enameled cup in my office, nearly every day. Sometimes when I’m on the phone, I pick it up and slowly spin it between my thumb and index finger. Without fail, I’m awed and a bit sickened by the horrifying destruction that three spinning razor blades can exact. I don’t wish to forget what this weapon looks like or stop imagining how it might feel if it were sunk into
my
chest.
    When I look at the arrow, I also remember something else—how a dog, a wonderful creation considered to be man’s best friend, had survived the worst humans had to offer, was found, and was saved by the unexpected and persistent love of a stranger.
F ROM D ARKNESS TO L IGHT
    We can be so ashamed of some sins that we push them down deep inside. Beyond the view of others, these are the sins that kill.
    We’ve all made mistakes, and we’ve all said and done things we’re not proud of. Some of these choices can be devastating—an abortion, an affair, a betrayal. In some cases our missteps bring so much pain and shame that we push them down into our hearts and turn them into secrets. We bury them like old bones, hoping to plant them so deep that no one will ever find them.
    The problem with hidden sins, however, is that they don’t ever go away. Sooner or later these sins
will
ruin us. Attempting to conceal a sin is no less harmful than choosing to ram an arrow of selfish rebellion into our own chests. Once the infection sets in, it festers and spreads, eventually leading to our destruction.
    We all know that covering up our problems won’t solve them. Neither will attempting to bury them under an avalanche of feel-good procedures, treatments, and programs. We can’t heal our sin on the inside by simply looking better on the outside. No external polishing can cure an internal rot.
    There’s no regime of eating right, healthy living, or exercise habits that will make the damage from our sin cease. There’s no combination of righteous living, volunteering, mission trips, or good deeds that can stave off its evil seep. There’s no medication on earth that can cure it. There’s no amount of sex, drinking, or drugs that can mask its