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Our neighbors adopted a black Labrador Retriever for their granddaughters. Jake was a beautiful, playful, intelligent puppy. His sire appeared in our yard one weekend while our daughter and her family visited. We awoke to a pair of black, male labs lounging on our porch.

None of our neighbors recognized the dogs, which were obviously a trained pair. As they roamed through the subdivision—enjoying affection from humans here and there and taking several dips in the lake—they acted as if they were at home everywhere they sat.

And they would sit. My son-in-law’s commands successfully got them to sit, lie, and eventually follow him up the street and away from our house. Our five-year-old granddaughter ran pell-mell from the big dogs. Someone needed to remove them. We later learned they belonged to neighboring farmers.

I was intrigued by the obedience and attention the roaming dogs displayed. Although they had escaped from their owner, they were otherwise well-trained. The black labs immediately captured the words of any command and obeyed them.

Why can’t I be like that? Why can’t I sit, lie, and roll over when my Commander speaks? Why can’t I capture my Trainer’s words and immediately act upon them? Why can’t I seize every thought, idea, and notion and make it obedient to Christ?

Jake, on the other hand, hadn’t learned to obey yet. Residents found potted plants, gloves, hats, boots, and unattended things hidden in bushes, on porches, or in the lake. Jake hadn’t learned to leave people-property alone. We also observed the destruction of our neighbors’ outdoor decorations, but we had duly warned them.

Training Jake will take time. Training us takes time too. It begins with one thought . . . one command.

Decide to stay near the heels of your Master today and every day.