Life is the soul’s nursery—
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).
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?