Tugging on the Leash

Five years ago my wife and I brought home a buff-colored Cocker Spaniel with large brown eyes, droopy ears, and a stubby tail that wags nonstop. Officially we designated the puppy our daughter Melinda's pet, a privilege that included naming rights. "The dog's name," Melinda emphatically announced, "will be Herby, spelled with a 'y'!" A fine name for a dog, except that this particular canine is a female.

If Herby has an identity problem, she doesn't show it. She eagerly greets me at the door when I come home, and lies obediently at my feet while I sit in the family room. For a few morsels of dog food, she'll do tricks like spinning around, "speaking," and rolling over.

When I take her on walks, though, Herby resists my control at every turn. She sniffs the ground and tugs firmly on the leash, pulling hard to one side or the other in vigorous pursuit of some unseen treasure her nose suspects she'll find slightly to the right or left of where I'm taking her.

During a recent walk, exasperated as usual by Herby's antics while she tried to pull away from me, I was struck by a surprising thought: I do the same thing to my Master! The Lord wants to walk with me, lead me, direct me. How does he feel when I'm constantly pulling in a different direction, resisting his tug, straying to the right or to the left?

Now, we shouldn't push this analogy too far. We aren't God's pets; we're his special creations, made in his image. We're bound to him by a leash of love, designed to respond to him in faith and obedience. God says, "I led them with cords of human kindness, with ties of love; I lifted the yoke from their neck and bent down to feed them" (Hosea 11:4).

Why, then, do we tug so hard on the leash? "Do not be like the horse or the mule," David wrote, "which have no understanding but must be controlled by bit and bridle or they will not come to you" (Psalm 32:9). Hosea made a similar point: "The Israelites are stubborn, like a stubborn heifer. How then can the Lord pasture them like lambs in a meadow?" (Hosea 4:16).

In today's cultural climate, many emphasize the right to choose. Choice is a deeply ingrained American value, imbedded in our corporate psyche and guaranteed by the Bill of Rights. But choosing is only half of the equation. The right to choose must be coupled with choosing what is right.

God's Word and common sense remind us to "ask where the good way is, and walk in it" (Jeremiah 6:16). God told the Israelites, "I have set before you life and death, blessings and curses. Now choose life, so that you and your children may live" (Deuteronomy 30:19). We can choose whether or not we'll do what's right, but God has already determined what is right.

It's right for a mother to nurture her unborn child, not destroy it. It's right for parents to provide the financial, emotional, and spiritual support their families need. It's right for the church to take care of widows and orphans. It's right to minister to the sick, the disabled, the lonely, the poor, and the aged. It's right for God's people to uphold the right to life and back up our words with our deeds. It's right to support pregnancy care centers and other ministries that daily advance the pro-life cause in the trenches of human need.

Amid all the rhetoric that says, "We have a right to do what we want," God calls us to a higher standard: We should want to do what's right.