When I was about 15 years old, I went on a camping trip with my sister, my ex-Step Mom, and her current boyfriend, who later became her husband. (This is a story in and of itself, but I’m not going to go there right now.) It was approaching the end of a summertime trip of seeing most of my extended family in California and I decided to take this camping trip with the aforementioned group of people to a lake in Oregon before the vacation was over.
Now, once we got there, we weren’t really going to rough it in tents or anything like that, because we had a huge pop-up fifth wheel camper in tow, complete with kitchen, shower, and one of those toilets you have to hook up to a giant hose to empty when you exit the campsite (think cousin Eddie from National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation). So this was a “camping” trip in the loosest of terms.
When we completed the drive up north and pulled into the campground, the beauty of the area literally took my breath away. There were cedar trees that seemed taller than skyscrapers and the lake was the clearest I had ever seen in my life. There were small fields of clover and wildflowers, populated by deer and birds that literally came up to humans and ate tiny scraps of bread from the hands of children. And the coolest thing of all to me were the hundreds of prairie dogs that skittered through the patches of flowers, dodging tree roots and diving into their subterranean homes.
When we stopped the truck and hopped out to take in the view of the land, the first thing that went through my idiot 15 year-old boy mind was, “Hmm, I wonder how many times I could throw a rock at a prairie dog before I could hit it?”
We quickly settled into our campsite and got situated enough to feel like home for a few days before each of us decided to go exploring on our own for a few minutes. I took this time to immediately make a B-line for the nearest patch of clover, in hot pursuit of my prairie dog prey.
On my way, I bent down and randomly picked up four or five medium-sized rocks I thought were just the right shape and weight to hurl at a speeding animal the size of a large rat. When I got to the first mini-field of clover and flowers, I widened my stance a bit and stood silently like a sumo wrestler on the edge of a ring, ready to pounce as soon as the situation called for it. Only a couple of minutes went by before I saw a prairie dog pop up out of a hole in the ground and start darting across the field, away from where I was standing.
A starting gun went off in my mind and I sprang forward toward the little thing like a teenage girl chasing down Justin Bieber in a parking lot. When the prairie dog spotted me running after it, he darted away from me with the kind of haste that can only be described as “awe-inspiring.” It was now or never for me, so as I was in mid-stride, I plucked a single rock from the cluster of them in my left hand, cocked back my entire right arm, and chucked the stone toward the prairie dog like a Major League Baseball pitcher.
What happened next seemed like it occurred in slow motion. The rock flew through the air, top over bottom toward the little guy on a frozen rope of pinpoint accuracy. Inch by inch, it sailed toward him, finally making stunningly perfect contact at the back of his head, then ricocheting off at a 90 degree angle toward the woods. I think I heard a small “thump” sound in that moment followed by a tiny little, “Nooooo!,” but it’s possible I just imagined that part.
The prairie dog instantly flipped over onto his back, put both of his front paws together, and made like he was digging a hole in the air for a few seconds. Then he stopped sharply, froze his paws in mid-air and collapsed onto his left side. When I processed the fact that I had hit the prairie dog on my first throw, I stopped running, dropped the remaining rocks in my hand, lifted both of my fists to the sky and shouted, “I hit him on the first try! All of you woodland creatures bow before me, for I am your KING!”
A couple of mental high-fives later, I walked over to the little guy to gently nudge him from his stunned state, in hopes that he would just shake it off and run back into the closest hole. But what I discovered next would quickly change my prideful attitude and burn this whole experience into my mind for the rest of my life.
Gently tapping him with my shoe didn’t wake him. Clapping my hands loudly next to his head didn’t make him move. And lightly poking him with a nearby stick didn’t make him hop to his feet and scurry away. In that moment, I came to the realization that I had, in fact, killed the precious little prairie dog .
A wave of remorse promptly swept over me. All of the pride and jubilation I felt drained from my body, leaving nothing but guilt and sadness. I couldn’t believe I had actually killed that innocent creature because of an idiotic desire to turn rock-throwing into a game. What had I done?
After about ten minutes of self-condemnation, I came up with a plan to make things right. I took the stick I had been holding and dug a hole in the ground, roughly the size of a shoebox. I then stepped over in front of the dead prairie dog and picked him up with my bare hands (I do not recommend this, by the way) and gently laid him inside his final resting place. After covering him with the loose soil I had dug up, I walked over to the nearest patch of wildflowers, picked four or five (ironically the same number of rocks I had initially picked up), and placed them on top of the grave. I then performed a small funeral service that included two full minutes of silence and a genuine heartfelt prayer that went something like this:
Lord, I’m so sorry for murdering one of the creatures you created. Please forgive me. I pray that you would accept this prairie dog into your presence and may he always run freely in the clover fields of glory. Amen.
After the service was over, I felt so much better about myself for handling my mistake in a way that was honorable and good. I was able to enjoy the rest of the camping trip we had in the beautiful state of Oregon, and I vowed never again to throw rocks of any kind at any of God’s creatures.
I know this may sound funny to you after a story like this, but we as human beings do this kind of stuff all the time with God. No, I don’t mean the whole funeral for a prairie dog thing…I’m talking about the heart attitude of checks and balances. Whenever we foul up and make a mistake that overwhelms us with guilt, we think our bad thing can be covered up in God’s eyes if we do something good. When I was an idiotic 15 year-old, I quite literally thought I could cover up my misdeed with a good act of an appropriate burial service. But even today I’m extremely guilty of the “good stuff cancels out bad stuff” belief system in my everyday life. I consistently think, “If I just feel guilty long enough” or “If I’m nicer to more people today than yesterday” or “If I give more than I gave last time” or “If I read my bible for a little longer today,” etc. It may sound ridiculous, but my heart really thinks these kinds of actions and attitudes can save me from condemnation. How incredibly foolish!
I have yet to find the verse or verses in the bible that say something to the effect of, “Doing one good thing cancels out doing one bad thing, so make sure you do more good things than bad things or God isn’t going to love you and He’ll probably send you to hell.”
Why do we diminish the grace of God to checks and balances? Why do we believe we can save ourselves from condemnation with a good thought or a good action? Being right with God has nothing to do with our actions and everything to do with the love of God through His Son, Jesus Christ.
If you believe it’s about Jesus and His love, you will live that way, and if you live that way, your life will shine in stark contrast to the kind of life that is enslaved to performance. The world around you will see the difference and be irresistibly drawn to the relationship you have with God.
Connection with Him is about grace through faith, not good action to appease wrath and guilt. We have to stop performing prairie dog funeral services to make ourselves feel better and start living in the truth that a relationship with God cannot be purchased with good works.
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