The Killer Wimp

Our church is home to little lizards. They eat bugs, leave no mess, and scare no one. They’re my friends, and I name them all Leonard. Every one of them—Leonard.

One weekday afternoon I took my little dog to the church office with me. I left her in the hallway for less than a minute and came back to see the carnage of dead Leonard lying on the carpet. His neck was bitten wide open, body crushed, and tail bitten off.

My little Yorkshire Terrier, barely ten pounds and always cute, paced back and forth, apparently proud of her warrior’s victory over the tiny reptile. Augh!

Of course she killed the lizard. That’s what dogs do—for fun. My dog knows of precious few creatures smaller than she is, and by golly, she won’t miss her chance to take advantage of an opportunity. After all, the birds always get away. But not this lizard. Got him! Aren’t you proud, Master?
 
Um. No. My sweet little doggie—who is such a wimp that she runs away from squirrels—is a killer! Oh, the violence that lurks beneath her placid appearance.
 
Then I thought, Could I be like my dog? What still lurks beneath my surface? Maybe yours too. What comes out that people normally don’t see? Or that we might not even be aware of? The kinds of things God warns us about. The kinds of reasons we need his Spirit transforming our lives.
 
The world is full of people who on the outside look respectable or spiritual or whatever you like. But there’s so much we don’t see. What would we see if we could look inside each other the way God does?
 
Maybe not everyone, but we might be surprised at what’s inside many of us.
 
If any of this makes sense to you, what might lurk in your life?
What would you do about it?
And if you put it in God’s hands, every day, how could he transform it?