Parables of Maximus: Finishing Well

It is almost as if I am starting at the end rather than the beginning. Ever since I took ownership of my English Springer Spaniel I have been aware of myriad lessons that I have learnt from him. That is, lessons I have been taught through him and during my training of him. But as he nears his end (that sounds sad just typing it) I am still beholding to my old friend for yet more life lessons acquired by spending time with my first hunting dog.

Maximus is finally slowing down. A whirlwind from day one, he has been one of the hardest and most athletic working dogs I have ever seen. Even guys who had been on the shooting scene for decades longer than me would smile and shake their heads at his powerhouse approach to flushing birds and his absolute commitment to retrieving those birds which had been downed even in the most inaccessible places. I worked on one shoot where there had been basically a no-go area of incredibly thick cover (brambles, self-seeded saplings and general gnarliness) into which none of their dogs would go or were ever even sent. I asked quite innocently if the 2 birds that were lying dead in the middle of this area were going to be retrieved by someone. The response was a smile and a shrug accompanied by, "We don't send them in there. You can't get birds out of it". I raised my eyebrows and asked if they wanted them. By now the raised eyebrow competition was in full flow on both sides, so I just pointed with my left hand and almost whispered, "fetch it on, good lad!" The explosion that erupted from among the undergrowth was akin to the work of the velociraptors in Jurassic Park (if any of you can remember that unmemorable film). A minute later Maximus appeared, head riving from side to side to rip the brambles from his ears and presented the first of his two retrieves to my hand.

Suffice to say he became a legend in the space of a few minutes. His reputation grew over the following weeks and my serious pride issues were being gluttonously overfed. Fortunately one week he chased a squirrel down the entire beating line and I confess I was too hard on him with my reprimand. This calmed my ego and put a hole in my over-inflated chest. But he was nonetheless a bit of a star at times.

Now he has arthritis in both front legs, one of which still carries the plate and pins from a monstrous break a few years ago, and he is rapidly becoming stone deaf. Weight is falling off him and I fear something is wrong inside which may well be terminal. It's hard to write that about your best friend. So, what am I learning from him, as we go walking in the woods each day and as he tries to avoid the bombastic exuberance of his 6 month-old "little brother", Gunnar?

He is still the same dog, full of enthusiasm and hard-wired to hunting. The fact that he cannot do it anymore hasn't affected his zeal for the job. Every pheasant that calls, every woodcock that flutters off in front of him, and especially every cotton-tailed bunny that bolts out of the rushes, still ignites that inherent passion he has for the hunt. His tail beats a furious figure of eight pattern as his face gets stuffed into the spot where the quarry had just been hiding, deep snuffs and grunts accompanying the investigation into the recently departed game. Then up goes the head and he canters off, following the scent or the sight of the creature that he still knows belongs to him. He seems entirely unconcerned that he can no longer catch them, and with his deafness he cannot even hear the bark of the Roebuck as it signals alarm from as little as 70 or 80 yards away. Only the nose helps him, should the quarry be the right side of the wind. Maximus knows how to grow old. He doesn't regret not doing what he used to; he enjoys doing what he does. And his personality and make-up remain the same; the zeal is still very much intact.

That may sound a little like I am anthropomorphising here, and I probably am. But as I reflect on this, I am struck how we, as humans, and especially those who claim to be Christians, can learn from my old spaniel. One of the most frequently made comments I heard while I was at Bible college (as the oldest one there, by almost 20 years) was this:"how come you are still so full of zeal for God? I am already getting jaded and I am only in my twenties. And all the older guys (thanks a lot!) at my home church are tired and boring. They have lost any spark that they ever had years ago".

Maximus is as enthusiastic, as up for the hunt, as ever before because it is in his blood. It is inherent in his nature and that nature has also been trained on a daily basis for years. As Christians we are meant to be indwelt by the living Jesus Christ; by His very Spirit. Add to that the daily training of a believer, in reading His Word and in prayer, and we have absolutely no excuse to wear out or grow jaded. Of course trials come, of course things can get us down. But if my old spaniel can keep going, full of passion for the hunt, so should we keep pursuing the goal: the upward call of God in Christ Jesus. Broken bones, arthritis, other infirmities, even grief upon grief should not be able to overcome us.

I am not saying it is easy. I am saying it is the guarantee for those who are in Christ, to be able to finish well, no matter what the world, the flesh and the devil may throw at us. I know Maximus will finish well, whether he lives another 3 months or another 3 years. It is who he is. I know I can also finish my own race well, as I rest in the One who gave His life to set me free.

Are you hard-wired to His service, or have you allowed other things to disconnect you from the source that will enable you to finish well?