So many questions pop into my head every day as I interact with my dog, Winston – What kind of mood must God have been in when He made you? Did your mother drop you on your head when you were a puppy?
And perhaps the most significant of them all: Who is the pet around here and who is the master?
Sometimes I want to get right in Winston’s wrinkly face and ask, “Did you, Winston, buy me? Did you pick me out of a litter and bring me home? No, I didn’t think so. As I recall, we bought you. You belong to us.”
Nevertheless, anyone observing the dynamics between master and pet in our house would be hard-pressed to figure out who’s who. Winston rams me with his nose, shakes his head and whines; I get up and let him out. Winston peers in through the French doors, yips and scrapes his toenails across the glass; I get up and let him in. Winston goes over to the cabinet where we store his treats; he glares at the cabinet, then at me, then at the cabinet, then back at me, until I obediently fetch him a treat. Winston sidles up to me with his pull-rope in his jowls, bores holes in me with his sad eyes and repeatedly drops his toy in my lap; I relent and play with him.
Winston doesn’t like to go out alone now for his evening trip to the woods (perhaps he’s afraid the squirrels he torments in the daytime will mount a stealthy counterattack in the dark of night), so he’s trained me to escort him while he does his business before bedtime.
It’s apparent that Winston has me on a leash. He has staged a subtle, methodical, successful coup and I fully acknowledge that he’s now the master and I’m the “pet.” Never mind that I bought him and he’s supposed to do my bidding – the natural order of things has been turned upside down.
It makes me think about how I too often treat God. It’s clear that God is supposed to be in charge. He is Creator and Lord of life and He’s the One who ransomed me from the hopeless, dark prison of life apart from Him and bought my freedom with the blood of Jesus Christ. I owe Him everything.
In Luke 6:46, Jesus asks, “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?”
That’s an extremely good question. Here’s one possible answer: Because I too often think God exists to do my bidding, like He’s my personal, heavenly butler.
Jesus said He came to earth to do and say only what He saw His Heavenly Father doing and saying. His life on earth was all about loving and doing the will of the One whose heart sent Him here. Mine should be, too.
Make no mistake — this is a great deal. When I truly submit to God, I am free to live the most fulfilling life possible in this fallen world. God fills my days with purpose, power and promise. But that only happens as I humbly take my rightful position.
He’s the Potter, I’m the clay; He’s the King, I’m the subject; He’s the Creator, I’m the creation; He’s the Father, I’m the child; He’s the Master … and I’m not.
(And, by the way, if you’re reading this, Winston, neither are you … got that?)