Lessons from Jake

I have had some wonderful dogs in my life. I am rather fond of our current dogs, Abby and Hunter, and I truly enjoyed Buddy before them. However, of all the dogs I have ever been associated with, Jake was undoubtedly my favorite. Part of it was his personality, and part of it was the fact that he was my constant companion through what can only be described as the most difficult period of my life. Jake was an ugly dog, to be sure, but he was my friend, and as we traveled our wilderness trails together, he taught me a few things.

I am convinced that Jake took pride in the fact that we paid one hundred and twenty five dollars for him. In moments when he seemed a little down, I would remind him of that and I think it lifted his spirits. Of course, I never mentioned that we had paid for the things they had done to him rather than for any inherent value he may have possessed. He really didn't need to know that truth, and it wasn't lying to say that we paid one hundred and twenty five dollars for him, so who did it really hurt?

Jake and I had things in common. We were both ugly, and we both were blessed with rather strong stubborn streaks. Actually, stubbornness that bordered on rebellion. Well, in Jake's case it did. He was rebellious, and I'm strong willed. I like to think that there is a difference.

By coincidence, our names mean the same thing. It's true. Jacob and James mean the same thing. They both mean, "Supplanter" or, "One who takes he place of." Like the patriarch Jacob in the Bible, both Jake and I, on occasion, like to lead instead of follow. In all fairness to me, it was a stronger characteristic in Jake. In any case, there have been times when we both thought that our plans were better than the plans of our master.

As Jake's master, I have to tell you that there were occasions when I found this characteristic frustrating. To be sure, Jake wasn't a bad dog. In fact, he had an obedience ratio of probably close to ninety-five percent. The vast majority of the time when I called him, Jake would actually respond. There were occasions however, when he would see a rabbit or a deer, or perhaps get a whiff of some odor he wanted to explore, and he would be gone. I could call all I wanted, but he would not come back until he was good and ready to turn around.

Years ago, when we were traveling some trails in Northern Minnesota, Jake ran off on me. I called for him but, if he heard me, he ignored the command and kept running. Unfortunately, shortly after Jake left on the mission he had created in his mind, a storm came up. Thunder and lightening. Heavy rain. The whole works. It was also close to the Fourth of July, and fireworks seemed to be everywhere.

In the confusion of the storm and the noise, Jake apparently lost his way. As his master, I spent hours, even days, looking for him. I would walk and bike, calling his name, hoping he would hear my voice and come home. I wasn't mad at him, you understand. I realized that he had made a mistake in not listening to my call, and the unexpected storm had sent him in the wrong direction. My only concern was that I would find him, and have him back at my side.

Technology is, in most cases, a wonderful thing. Jake had a little thing implanted in him that, when scanned and read, told people that he belonged to me. It would tell anyone who checked that I was Jake's master. He was mine. That's how we found him. Jake ended up in an animal shelter, they checked his tag, and found out that he belonged to me.

At the time, I didn't want to embarrass Jake but, truth be told, he was a pathetic sight in that tiny kennel at the shelter. His head was between his front paws on the cold cement floor, as he stared forlornly ahead. I think he realized that, with just one moment of carelessness, he had traded open spaces to run, and a family that loved him, for a four by five cell and some strangers who were kind enough to feed him once a day. In his mind, he had lost it all just by ignoring his master's voice when I tried calling to him.

But there was that tag. That implant that told the world that he belonged to me. The thing that declared that I was his master. And it was that implant that allowed Jake to be brought safely back to me.

Many of us are a lot like Jake. At least, I know that I am. Remember, our names mean the same thing. But many of us are in the same boat. We're pretty good people. As Christians, we have a fairly high obedience ratio. Maybe even as high as ninety-five percent. However, there are those times when we get a little whiff of something. Something we would prefer to pursue rather than responding to the voice of the Master. We set our own course, and take off on our own mission without hearing, or maybe even ignoring the voice of our Master calling us back.

Most often, we eventually come to our senses, and head back to the safety of the Master's side. But occasionally, as we wander on our own course, storms come up and we lose our direction. The noise and confusion of life causes us to run the wrong way. Rather than running toward the Master, we find ourselves running away from the only truly safe place there is for us.

When these times come, it's important for us to understand that the Master isn't mad at us. That's not the nature of the God we serve. His desire is for our safety. He wants us back at His side, enjoying each others company. Whenever I've been distracted by the storms and noise of life, and have headed away from the Master, I find myself pretty much like Jake in that shelter. A forlorn, helpless creature, realizing that I've traded all kinds of freedom and joy for a moment of ignoring the Master's call.

But friends, the gospel of Christ is a beautiful thing. When we come to Christ, and accept the salvation offered through His sacrifice, we are given an implant. O.K., maybe I exaggerate when I call it an implant. But we are given a seal. We are sealed by the Holy Spirit as being one who belongs to God. We have been purchased by Him, we have been bought by Him, and He is our Master. The seal is proof of that truth.

And when we lose our direction. Or when we refuse, in our rebellion, to listen to the Master's call. When we lose our way home. In those times, He comes to us wherever we may be. He comes to us in our despair, and the self-made prisons in which we have placed ourselves. He comes to us in our loneliness and regrets. And he looks at us with eyes of love and says, "That's one of mine. His name is Jim, and he belongs to me." If anyone would have the courage to ask the Creator of the universe how He knows which ones belong to Him, He would tell them, "I know he's mine because of that seal. That seal identifies him as one that I've purchased, and I am his Master."

As Christians, we rejoice in the fact that whatever storms we may face in life, we have a seal that will always get us back home. We are marked as being one who belongs to the Master. We are one of the chosen, one of the elect, and we are marked as belonging to the Creator of all things. He always leaves the light on for us. He never stops calling for us. And when we can't find the light or hear the call, He searches the dungeons and prisons we've locked ourselves in, finds us, picks us up, cleans us off and brings us home.

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