We were four days out on the trail with a high school group on a backpack hike when some boys discovered that we could take a one-mile side trip to a small village. They coaxed me into the detour so we could have a cold drink. As we neared the village we discovered we were entering the back of a junkyard. I knew junkyard dogs guard almost all junkyards and this was no exception.
What a risk!
Here we were, face to face with a big, black, mean, hungry looking dog. He was in no mood to back down. One of our girl campers had a special way with animals. She dropped to her knees, held out her hands, and said, “Hi there, Blackie. Come on boy. Come here. Nice boy.”
Much to our surprise and joy the big dog stopped growling and started wagging his tail. He came up to the girl and licked her face as she petted him. Then she said, “You all go ahead, I’ll take care of the dog.” A man came out of a trailer and the look on his face was utter shock as he saw his mean old guard dog wagging his tail as our brave little backpacker petted him.
Needless to say we found another way back to the trail when we left the village.
Have you taken a risk lately?
I am afraid most of us are not willing to take risks for God. We even hesitate to risk going across the street to talk to our neighbors about Jesus. (And if we go, we pray they will not be home.) Some will not even risk going out in the rain to go to worship services. To take a risk to teach a class would be out of the question.
I remember preaching my first two-week revival when I was only 20 years old. (They were two weeks long back then!) Maybe I was taking a risk, but that congregation was taking an even bigger risk. Faith is walking to the edge of all the light we have and putting our hand in the hand of God and going on. |L
Daniel Gault (recently deceased) of Brinkhaven, Ohio, served churches in central Ohio for many decades. Dan was a noted preacher, painter, author, carpenter, and storyteller.
