Just a jug

“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God not of us.” 2 Cor. 4:7

           We are barely away from the Blazer when Doti points.  We know she’s getting bird scent since the wheat fields between the mile long tree rows are prime pheasant habitat.  When no bird flushes, John whistles for Doti to go.  She runs twenty feet and freezes, nose to the ground, body language saying, “Bird Here!” 

            I walk in front of her hoping to flush the bird up so John can shoot.  Happy sniffs the ground excitedly while pulling against the leash hooked to my belt.  Doti’s head raises, her eyes move up the field in front of me.  I motion to John that the bird is running and release Doti. 

            With nose down, she moves low to the ground in a fast cat-walk and zigzags into the thick tree row.  Happy is also sniffing the ground and pulls me along as Doti goes through the trees to the other side and down along the row.  I know the bird is running and is just ahead and that Doti is moving too fast.  She’ll more than likely bust the bird.  Before I can whistle her to a stop, however, she whips out into the stubble, and around some tall grass.

            The rooster runs out heading John’s way.  I motion to John to look ahead.  Then Doti zips around the bird turning him towards me.  The rooster plops down in the stubble. Doti freezes on point.   Excitedly I motion to John who is on the other side of the trees and hasn’t seen any of the action.  He makes his way to the bird and is thirty feet away when the ground explodes with a flurry of feathers and wings and a long tail.

            Doti did everything right.  It worked, this time.  You could say it was a perfect hunt except for the fact that even after John took two shots the rooster flew on. 

            Later, Doti tried the same ploy; however, the bird was in the tree row and when she ran ahead of it, he would head the other way.  They ran back and forth several times and Doti did not heed my whistle to stay put.  Finally, the bird had enough and took off a hundred yards or so out of range. 

            So she’s just a dog and isn’t perfect. She gets excited and just goes without thinking.  She runs on adrenaline and doesn’t listen to commands.  She lets success go to her head and blows the whole deal. She thinks she can pull it off by herself.  Reminds me of me.

            I was picking up sticks one day after John had trimmed the big tree by our house and a song I had heard kept going through my head.     “Crooked Sticks, crooked sticks, there aint a one that God can’t straighten up and fix”,

            If you get to looking at them, none of those sticks are straight.  None.  Some are really bent, some have several forks and knobs, some are a bit smoother and some are almost straight but none are perfectly straight.      “None of us are born perfect, no, we’re just crooked sticks.”

            No, I was definitely not born perfect, I can’t seem to live perfect, and no way can I stay perfect.  I’m just a plain brown breakable clay jug.  Not a stunning golden goblet or a shinny silver challis that doesn’t break or lose its value.  Dark with age, I crack, I leak, I even break.  Like Doti I do dumb things and try to do it all myself.  Like John, I miss the mark.  Sometimes I wonder how this weak, plain, leaky jug can be used for any good.

                        They were just old bottles that I found in homesteader dumps, dirty, dingy, some were chipped, antiques yes, and treasures in my eyes but to most people they were discarded garbage.  I cleaned them up and proudly sat them on my window sill and my mother, of all people wanted to know why I put that “junk in my window”.       Well I never! 

            One day I filled four of them with lamp oil and put a wick in each.  When I lit the wick, they glowed softly and warmly on my table.  People complimented them and said how wonderfully they brightened the whole room.  Even Mom had to admit they looked very nice.

            Suddenly those old discarded bottles glowing with light and purpose were beautiful.  It was the oil that made the difference.

            Like the bottles, I have a treasure in this earthen vessel, the light of God, the knowledge of Jesus Christ, God’s glory shinning out of my heart, the excellence of God’s power.  This treasure makes all the difference.

     “There aint a one that God can’t straighten up and fix!”

“For it is the God who commanded light to shine out of darkness who has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”  2 Cor. 4:6

Read 2 Cor. 4