Clenched Fists

I wrote this a long time ago. Twenty years, if memory serves me well: ----------- His muscles quivered with tension. His tail flicked left, right – and left again. Anticipation oozed from every pore of his mixed Pug/Chihuahua body. How could I say no to those coal-black eyes? "You want a chewy?" Before the last syllable left my lips, Odie leapt and twirled in circles around my legs. His ear-piercing yelps sent goose bumps down the back of my neck. You'd think I'd offered him a 32-ounce charbroiled steak.

I pushed open the pantry door and reached for the dog treats. That was a mistake. As soon as he saw me pull the box from the shelf, he ratcheted up his frenzy another few decibels. Odie's only a foot and a half tall when standing on his hind legs, but can fly three feet off the floor at the thought of getting a goodie. "Sit," I ordered. "Roll over. Good dog." Satisfied he knew who was boss, I tossed the treat at his feet. Before it bounced twice, he snatched it between his teeth and trotted to his rug in the kitchen. He circled himself into a cozy spot and, for the next few moments, I watched him nuzzle and lick his chewy with the affection I thought he reserved only for me. He seemed oblivious to my existence . . . until I took a step toward him. As I did, he scrambled to his feet and snatched the treasure between his jaws. I smiled when I realized what Odie was thinking. I stepped back and he carefully laid it again on the floor – never taking his eyes off me. Each time I moved toward him, he grabbed the chewy as if to challenge: "Mine! You can't have it." I played the game a few more times until I tired of it and walked past him into the living room. From the recliner, I watched him still watching me and I wondered, didn't he realize I'm the one who feeds him, takes him for walks in the rain, snow, heat, and hail? Didn't he remember I sacrificed my favorite belt so we could play tug-of-war? I thought we were buddies. So why does he jealously guard a treat I gave him? While Odie nuzzled his treasure and warily eyed me, a troublesome question interrupted my thoughts: How often do I act like Odie? Just as every good thing my dog gets, he gets from me, so every good thing I get "is from above, coming down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation, or shifting shadow" (James 1:17, NASB). From the goodness of my heart, I give Odie chewies. From the goodness of God's heart, I receive treasures such as money, talents, and time. So why, when He asks me to return some of my treasure to His work, do I jealously guard each coin, each minute, each talent in tightly clenched fists, as if to challenge the Giver: "It's mine! You can't have it"? After these many years of walking with Christ I still struggle with that question. Odie acts like a beast because he is a beast. But, I am a child of God. I wish I'd act more often like one. What are you holding in clenched fists?