Chained

Renae Brumbaugh

-- Coffee Talk --

My dog thinks she’s the boss of me. She doesn’t listen. She does whatever she pleases, and when I scold her, she sasses me. Considering she’s not even a year old, I’d say she’s hit her teen rebellion stage a little early.

 

What she doesn’t know, but will learn, is that I will win. I’m bigger. I’m smarter. And yes, I am the boss, whether she chooses to acknowledge it or not.

 

Today, she wouldn’t stop jumping on our guest, so I had to put her on a chain. She wasn’t too happy about that, and spent the remainder of the time, while our guest was here, moaning and groaning and looking like she’d been sentenced to a year at Alcatraz instead of an hour in our back yard. But one of these days, she’ll learn. Or she’ll spend a whole lot of time on a chain.

 

She reminds me of myself, when I was a kid. My parents would tell me to clean my room, or wash the dishes, or do my homework. As my parents, they were in charge. Or at least they tried very hard to be in charge. And as my parents, they had the right to require obedience.

 

Whether or not I chose to obey was a different matter entirely. I could refuse to clean my room, but I’d also stay in that room until it was clean. It may take an hour, or six hours, or six days . . . but I wouldn’t be allowed any privileges until it was done.

 

No television. No phone calls. No going outside and riding my bike until dark. Basically, I’d live like an Amish prisoner of war until I completed whatever task had been asked of me.

 

So the choice was mine. I could choose to do things the easy way or the hard way. I learned it was a whole lot easier to just do what I was told. When I showed consistent respect and obedience, I was given freedom for all kinds of things! As a matter of fact, I didn’t even have a curfew when I was a teenager, because according to Mom and Dad, I didn’t need one. All they had to say was, “Be home early,” and I would. Not because I was naturally a good kid; I’d just learned what was expected, and I liked doing things the easy way.

 

My relationship with God is much like my relationship with my parents, when I was young. But while I was obedient and respectful to them, I don’t always listen as well to God. For some reason—I guess my rebellious nature kicked in a little late—I often choose to do things the hard way.

 

It usually goes something like this: God will tell me to do something, and He’ll be very clear. But if it isn’t something I want to do, I’ll avoid the issue. I’ll pretend to misunderstand. Or if I’m feeling especially unruly, I’ll just say no.

 

For example, He might whisper to my heart that I really should show kindness and compassion and love to that person who was awful to me. He’ll remind me that if I want forgiveness for all sorts of things from Him, I have to forgive other people. Even the people I don’t like. Even the people who, in my opinion, don’t deserve forgiveness.