by M. R. Wells
Martha’s friend managed to retrieve a dirt-covered, reeking Annie from under the house. Even as Annie was being dragged to the friend’s car for cleanup and dog-sitting, she was straining at her leash to go back and keep giving those skunks “what-for.” Annie never did live and learn with respect to skunks. She chased them every chance she got for the rest of her life.
Failure to learn from getting skunked is not confined to canines. A certain biblical character had this failing too—in Technicolor. Ahab was King of Israel in the time of the Divided Kingdom. He married an evil pagan Baal worshipper named Jezebel, and began to worship Baal himself. Scripture tells us that Ahab “did more to arouse the anger of the LORD, the God of Israel, than did all the kings of Israel before him” (1 Kings 16:33).
In judgment for his own and his kingdom’s idolatry, God sent a drought proclaimed by the prophet Elijah. Three years later the drought ended in a contest between Elijah and—count ’em—450 prophets of Baal. It was a contest to see whose god would send down fire and consume an offering made on Mount Carmel. You could say that those prophets—and by extension, Ahab and Jezebel—got skunked. Their dry offering wasn’t touched by fire, while Elijah’s soaking wet sacrifice was totally consumed (1 Kings 18:22-39).
The point of that little exercise was to show Ahab and all Israel that God was God! Ahab didn’t get the memo. He didn’t turn from idolatry to God except very temporarily when he found himself in dire straits. Elijah, and God, gave him every chance not only to live and learn, but to learn and live by following the Lord. Sadly, he persisted in evil and kept getting “sprayed,” not by a skunk, but by the results of his own reeking actions—which included complicity in murder—until he and his infamous queen met their divinely decreed deaths.
If truth be told, we all have areas where we can be like Annie and Ahab. We can fight what our Master is trying to show us. We can persist in attitudes and actions that are getting us skunked. Jesus squeezed into the crawl space of death to drag us out, reeking with sin, and cleanse us—but we still have our skunk-chasing old natures to deal with. Thankfully, we also have God’s Spirit. He is calling us to follow Him in the sweet-smelling paths of righteousness. Will you learn and live?
For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light (for the fruit of the light consists in all goodness, righteousness and truth) and find out what pleases the Lord (Ephesians 5:8-10).
Consider This:
Are you fighting a losing battle with a skunk in your life? How are you getting sprayed? What support might you get from Scripture and other believers that would help you learn and live?
No Other Dogs Before Me
Some Things Can’t Be Shared
God is indeed a jealous God–
He cannot bear to see
That we had rather not with Him
But with each other play.
EMILY DICKINSON
Chris is a busy guy. He’s a physician who runs a department at a major Los Angeles hospital. He’s also a part-time screenwriter. He works out regularly, enjoys an active social life, and travels. And he has a dog named Luna that he loves very much. Luna loves him back—unconditionally. But she sits home alone for long periods of time, pining because her master is a busy guy!
At one point Chris, a twenty-first century male, sensitive to the needs of the opposite sex, felt pangs of guilt over leaving his girl Luna by herself. Since quitting his job to be Luna’s full-time companion was not an option, Chris decided to find Luna a four-legged friend.
Chris hit the animal shelter circuit with the determination of a recently single guy out on the prowl. It was exhausting. He had forgotten how difficult it was to find the right one. Too many dogs, too little time!
One day, a cute face caught Chris’s eye. It belonged to a male half-Chihuahua, half-Something Else. Normally, Chris didn’t go for Chihuahuas. But since this dog was a mix, maybe his reservations about the breed wouldn’t apply.
The dog wagged his tail when Chris gave him the eye, then bounced around like a pinball when Chris approached. Rambunctious was the first word that came to Chris’s mind. That could spell trouble—but it could also mean a fun, interesting, perky personality. So, after a few belly rubs and face licks, Chris impulsively decided that Comet was the Luna companion he’d been seeking.
As dog pals, Luna and Comet were fine. They kept each other company in the usual dog ways: romping, pouncing, and gnawing at each other. Luna seemed pleased to share her space with this new dog.
But she was not pleased to share her master.
When Chris came home, it would be an Olympic sprint to see who crossed the finish line to Chris first. If Comet got the jump on Luna and was first to greet Chris, Luna would bound up and muscle Comet out of the way. Once when Chris’s mom came for a visit, Comet tried to climb into her lap. Luna dashed over and bit Comet’s ear. Chris was appalled. He shook a disciplinary finger in Luna’s face and shouted, “Bad dog!” In the heat of the moment, Luna bit Chris’s hand and drew blood. Chris was shocked at this unheard-of act of violence and banished the offender into the backyard.
After Chris cooled down, he went outside and apologized to Luna. She was sorry too, licking Chris’s hand and face. It was then that Chris realized he loved Luna but only liked Comet. He decided he had to give Comet up for adoption. Luna was a jealous dog and would have no other dogs before her. That’s the way it was—and still is.
Chris put out the word, and amazingly, a nurse at work was looking for a small dog. Introductions were made. The nurse took Comet home to her family of three young boys and their dad. To this day, the nurse tells Chris they absolutely love this dog. He sleeps with the boys and is utterly adored and worshipped.
Chris had the best intentions when he brought a dog home to be Luna’s friend. But he discovered a trait in Luna he hadn’t seen before—that she is a jealous dog. In her canine heart-of-hearts she could not tolerate sharing the intimate loving bond she had developed with Chris.
Jealousy isn’t a trick Luna learned in school—it’s a complex emotional response. Humans get jealous too, and so does God. And though the jealousy we and our dogs feel is not motivated by the pure, holy love that God’s is, it can give us a tiny hint of what our Lord feels when we bring home other gods and place them on the altars of our hearts.
Check out Exodus 20:5 (NLT), “I, the LORD your God, am a jealous God who will not tolerate your affection for any other gods.”
If God gave Luna the ability to speak, she’d tell Chris, “I, Luna your dog, am a jealous dog who will not tolerate your affection for any other dogs.”
It’s one thing to get nipped on the hand by a jealous mutt, but it’s an entirely different matter to anger a jealous God. Take a look at Deuteronomy 6:15 (NLT), “For the LORD your God, who lives among you, is a jealous God. His anger will flare up against you, and he will wipe you from the face of the earth.”
Wow! While God may not wipe us off the face of the earth the next time we arouse His jealousy, we must do our best not to make the Lord jealous. And the best way to do this? “Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength” (Deuteronomy 6:5).
God loved you first, with a love incredible beyond comprehension—so be very careful who or what you bring into your heart, the temple of the living God, the home of the Holy Spirit. Don’t let it get soiled and diminished by other gods—not just for His sake, but for yours!
Do you not know that your bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit, who is in you, whom you have received from God? (1 Corinthians 6:19).
Consider This:
Is there anyone or anything that is first in your heart before God? How is this affecting your life? How do you think God feels about it? Considering God’s pure and measureless love for you, are you willing to remove this idol and put God first again?
Spitfire Spit and Polished
Train Today, Gain Tomorrow
Life is the soul’s nurser
y—
its training place for the destinies of eternity.
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
Growing up the youngest of five children, there was always something going on. Getting a dog was one of the wonderful memories. We bought our little Boston terrier from a family that went to our church. We picked him out before he was ready to leave his mom, so the wait to get him seemed endless.
Finally, Dad and my brother Darrell went to pick him up. They brought home this tiny bundle of black and white fur. He had big, bulging black eyes and a black button marking on his forehead. Darrell gently put the puppy down on the floor as we all gathered around him. He couldn’t have weighed more than a couple of pounds and all of it was shaking. Mom said, in her typical mom fashion, “Oh, poor little thing. Let’s warm up some milk for him.”
The next event was to name our new canine friend. After some common names were tossed out, Darrell shouted, “I know, I know! Spitfire!” He had just completed a Spitfire model airplane. A Spitfire was a little bomber plane that seemed to never give up. Darrell just knew this little guy would live up to the name. Everyone loved it, so the family puppy was Spitfire from that moment on.
Spitfire was a very smart little dog. We didn’t care about teaching him tricks, but we needed to train him to live with his seven new humans. Spitfire was allowed in the backyard and den, but not in any other rooms. He was permitted to come into the house only through the back door. When he came to the front door he was told, “No Spitfire, you have to go to the back.” Whoever said this would then run to the back door, open it, and call him. In just a few seconds, he would show up at the back door and contentedly walk in.
Spitfire had a little rug in front of the den television where he liked to snooze. But Mom’s rule was that he had to sleep in the backyard at night. When it was time to let him out, one of us would walk up to him and he would start to snore loudly. He thought this would change our minds. But Mom was strict, and she always prevailed in the end.
Even though Spitfire knew what was expected of him, he sometimes had other ideas. One day, Darrell and Dad got on Dad’s Honda 90 motorcycle and took off down the back alley. Spitfire was told to stay home, and they thought all the doors and gates were closed. But our little dog found a way to get out, and he ran behind them, barking all the way. Darrell turned around and ordered him home, but Spitfire didn’t obey. Before they got to the end of the alley, Dad stopped the Honda and got off. He looked down at Spitfire and pointed toward the house. “Go home, Spitfire! Go home!”
Spitfire knew when Dad yelled, he had better listen. He turned around, hung his head, and slowly started walking home. Dad shouted, “Run home, Spitfire!” Spitfire rapidly picked up his pace. Dad and Darrell followed him so they could secure whatever opening he had escaped through. Then they jumped back on the Honda and took off again.
Apparently Spitfire had some sort of secret escape plan, because he got out of the backyard again. This time he ran in the opposite direction. He ended up at our pastor’s home several blocks away. The pastor’s family thought they recognized our little dog, so they called him over. Spitfire came and they played with him in their front yard. When everyone got tired they decided to ask him in for a cool drink of water. They all walked in the front door and invited Spitfire to come with them. Somehow Spitfire knew it was their front door. He walked up the front porch steps and stopped. They tried to coax him to come in, but he had been trained not to enter the front door, and he would not break this rule.
Someone in our pastor’s family had heard about his training. They went to the back door and called him. Spitfire instantly ran to the back door, walked in, and sat down. They invited him into their living room, but it was near the front door, and he declined. They gave him water and called us to let us know they had him. The whole family was amazed at the level of training Spitfire had learned. The pastor was so impressed that he used Spitfire in his Sunday sermon on obedience.
When we got Spitfire home, Dad didn’t know if he should yell at our dog for disobeying or praise him for his display of manners at the pastor’s home. He decided on the latter. Spitfire’s story traveled fast through our little town of Shafter. He was known as the polite little dog that understood how to follow directions.
Spitfire didn’t ask for forgiveness in words, but that evening he sat close to my dad. It seemed to be a sign of affection and a request for forgiveness. Dad loved Spitfire and forgave him. His place in the family had not been altered. Our love for him had not diminished.
Like Spitfire, I knew what was expected of me, but sometimes chose to do otherwise. My dad taught me to drive on our farm when I was about ten. As I got older, he taught me the rules of the road. I had no problem getting my driver’s license at 16. Mom and Dad then let me drive to the grocery store alone. Right after getting that privilege, I was stopped by a policeman. I had been speeding as I crossed the railroad tracks.
I pulled over to the side of the road like the officer wanted me to. Then I saw my dad right behind him. I thought, “Hallelujah, I’m saved!” But to my horror, Dad just talked to the cop for a moment and then took off again in his pickup, leaving me to face my predicament on my own. The policeman just gave me a warning, and I was grateful. But I knew Dad had seen what happened. When I got home, he waited for me to come and talk to him about it. He listened calmly and patiently. He knew that I had gone through enough anguish with the law and didn’t need more pain from him. He told me that if I’d gotten a ticket, I would have had to take care of it myself. No more was said.
My respect for Dad grew even more because of that incident. I realized his rules were meant for my good. I won’t say I never sped again, but for the most part, my driving reflected his training.
Dad trained Spitfire and me for our gain. Our loving Heavenly Father also trains us for our good. He even gives us a timeless training manual called the Bible to guide us. Paul explains to Timothy in 2 Timothy 3:16-17, “All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work.”
Spitfire walked through the door of Dad’s training and gained a reputation as a well-mannered dog. Dad’s training gained me greater safety on the road. If you submit to your earthly parents and the Lord, who knows what gain their training may bring you?
I hold fast to your statutes, LORD; do not let me be put to shame. I run in the path of your commands, for you have broadened my understanding (Psalm 119:31-32).
Consider This:
What have you gained from your parents’ training? From God’s training? In what areas are you tempted to run out of God’s gate? What consequences might this bring? What would encourage you to run home to Him instead?
Hook, Line, and Milk Jug
Look Before You Leap
Look before you leap, for snakes
among sweet flowers do creep.
PROVERB
Texene and her husband, Mac, were headed to the lake to go fishing for crappie. They had chosen two lucky dogs to go with them (out of eight eager candidates). Skipper the Lab, Mac’s constant companion, got picked—as well as Whistle, their nutty two-year-old German shorthair pointer. While Skipper was a veteran fisher-dog, this would be Whistle’s first adventure on the water.
After an awkward spraddle-legged landing into the pontoon boat, Whistle quickly got his sea legs. As Mac took off, Whistle hopped on the seat next to Texene, who grabbed a captain’s hat, turned it sideways, and put it on his head. Face into the wind, Whistle was the perfect picture of a canine sea captain.
Mac anchored the boat at their favorite spot and they dropped their minnow-hooked lines gently over the side. The dogs loved watching the bobbing corks and would bark each time a fish was landed. After pulling in a good haul, Mac headed to a shady spot for lunch. Whistle kicked back next to him, enjoying the breeze.
Suddenly, Whistle’s ears perked up and his head cocked in high alert. He sta
rted spinning in his seat like a top. Something incredibly exciting in the water had caught his undivided attention. Without warning Whistle bailed over the side of the boat, swimming like his tail was on fire, focused like a laser beam on the object of his desire—a floating plastic milk jug.
Texene screamed, yelling for Whistle to come back! She wasn’t worried about Whistle’s ability to swim. She was scared about what lay under the surface of that milk jug. All she could think of was “that dreaded trot line.” Trot lines are unattended fishing lines strung across the water with a series of baited hooks dangling down out of sight. They’re usually tied between a couple of trees and milk jugs are attached as a warning to boaters.
Whistle continued to ignore Texene’s calls. Her stomach churned with fear. Her mind played images of Whistle tangled up in those nasty hooks. As for Whistle, it was do or die. He was not about to be bested by some namby-pamby milk jug. With his jaws vise-gripped to the plastic handle, he swam until the line stretched to the breaking point, then snapped him back as if it were a bungee cord. Texene was afraid that if the hooks didn’t snag Whistle first, her crazy dog would drown trying to fetch that milk jug.
As Mac maneuvered the boat alongside, Whistle gave a mighty tug and the trot line snapped. Texene sighed with relief as it drifted away. She and Mac grabbed Whistle and flopped him into the boat. He shook himself off, never letting go of his hard-won prize. He bounced all over the boat, wanting to play with that jug, and clueless how close he had come to being hooked into a worst-case scenario.
All Whistle knew was that he loved milk jugs. He had played with those cheap and plentiful toys ever since he was a puppy. He just didn’t know what Texene knew—that the jug floating on the lake was attached to a very dangerous set of hooks hidden from sight. After Whistle leaped before he looked, he still had a choice. He could’ve listened to Texene and come back to the safety of the boat. But instead he let his desires short-circuit his connection to his master as he swam headfirst toward danger.
