Relentless

Back when I got pulled back into coon hunting, it was mostly the fault of two brothers. Now we spent a pile of nights together in the woods, and they had some fine Mountain Cur dogs. One of them was a dog named Tank, and that fellow earned every ounce of that name the hard way. Tank was a black Mountain Cur, mid-sized, nothing about him that would make you stop and stare if he was just standing in the yard. But the moment you unsnapped that lead, it was like flipping a switch. That dog went from ordinary to all business in about half a heartbeat.

Tank had a nose that could find squirrels on a day when every other dog looked like they were out there chasing imaginary friends. And when it came to coons, I’ll just tell you plain, he was the best dog I ever followed through the woods. He was gritty and unrelenting. The kind of dog that seemed to enjoy it more the harder it got. Now he wasn’t the fastest, some dogs are all flash, run wide open for fifteen minutes, and then come drifting back like they forgot why they left. Not Tank, when you turned him loose, you might as well find you a good log and get comfortable. You didn’t see that joker again until he was parked under a tree. If it took him all night or all week, didn’t matter to him one bit. When Tank sat down and started treeing, you could about go ahead and thank the Lord for a coon being there, and go get a pizza if you wanted because he wasn’t leaving until somebody showed up. He was relentless.

One night we were hunting a creek in the middle of the season. Back then we were young and thought sleep was optional, hunting three or four nights a week like it was our job. We fed those dogs good, but they stayed skinny from being worked so hard. Tank had bred a female once and it didn’t take, so the brothers wanted to make sure he was OK so decided they were hauling him to the vet the next day to get him checked out. Well, wouldn’t you know it, the night before that appointment we cut those dogs loose and they got treed. Big, mean coon came out of that tree like he had a problem with everybody involved. Now Tank was a finishing dog, and once he got hold of one, that was the end of the discussion. But that coon reached up and laid a bite on Tank’s head that swelled his head up like he’d been stung by a bucket of bees.

Next morning they load him up and head to the vet. Now picture this: hunting season had him looking like he was on ozempic, and his head and ear were swelled up like a basketball. They walk into the waiting room and a lady looks over and just gasps. She says, “Oh my goodness! What is wrong with that dog?” One of the brothers didn’t even blink. He shrugged and said, “Well… we ain’t sure… but we think he might have low sperm count.”

Truth was, old Tank didn’t need medicine. He needed a nap, a steak, and probably an ice pack.

Now I’ve hunted behind a lot of dogs in my life, and most of them had something going for them. Some had speed and some had a nose like an anteater. Some looked so good standing in the yard you’d swear they belonged in a magazine. Tank had all of that, but that ain’t what made him special.

It was that grit and being relentless. It was that gear you can’t breed into ‘em and you sure can’t train into ‘em, it’s there or it ain’t. Tank didn’t know how to quit. You could cut him loose on a cold night when the snow was hanging on the leaves and most dogs acted like they’d rather be back at the truck with a blanket and a biscuit… but not Tank. He would be head down, tail

working, pushing through briars, crossing creeks, climbing hills like he had a purpose bigger than just treeing a coon.

And I got to thinking one night, standing there listening to that dog work… that’s about the closest picture I’ve ever seen to how I imagine the Apostle Paul lived his life. Because when Paul met Christ, everything changed. But it didn’t get easier as a matter of fact, it got harder. That man was beaten, shipwrecked, thrown in prison, run out of towns, lied on, talked about… and still, he just kept going. No sidetracks. No quitting. No “I think I’ll take a season off.”

Just steady. Relentless. Forward. He knew what he was pursuing.

He said it like this in 1 Corinthians 9:24: “Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it.” (ESV) In other words, don’t just jog through this thing. Don’t just show up and say you participated. Participation trophies aren’t for Christians. God says run like it matters, like there’s something on the line. Because there is! That was Tank.

Paul didn’t stop there. Over in Philippians 3:14 he said: “I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.” (ESV)

Press. That’s not a casual word. That’s leaning in when you’re tired and putting one foot in front of the other when everything in you says go back to the truck. That’s staying with the track when it gets thin and the night gets long.

I’ve seen that in a dog. There were nights Tank would strike something and it wouldn’t be easy. Track would go cold, circle back, disappear for a long time and you’d think, “Well, that’s about done.” Any sensible dog would’ve checked out, come back, looked at you like, “We gave it a good try.” Not Tank. He’d just keep working. Almost stubborn about it, like he made up his mind somewhere deep down, “I ain’t quitting till I finish what I started.”

Before long you’d hear that soft bark in the distance. That change in his voice that said, “I got him now.” Then you’d smile, turn your light up, and start walking. Because you knew—if Tank was on it, it was as good as done.

So here is where we get real. A lot of folks start out strong. They get fired up, they get stirred, they take off running… but somewhere along the way, life gets hard. They feel the track gets cold. Prayers don’t seem to make it past the ceiling. They feel like the church or people disappoint them and little by little they drift. They don’t quit all at once. Nobody just walks off the mountain in broad daylight. It’s just a slow easing back toward comfort.

But Paul said press. Not when it’s easy, not when you feel like it. But press when it’s hard. Press when it’s quiet and press when you don’t understand. Because the prize is still the prize whether you feel it or not and God is still on the throne whether the night feels long or not.

What kind of follower of Christ are you gonna be? One that runs hard for a little while and then checks back in when it gets tough? Or one that locks in, puts your head down, and says, “I’m staying with this till the end”?

The Christian life ain’t a sprint to the mailbox. It’s a long hunt through rough country and somewhere along the way, you’ve got to settle it in your heart: “I’m not quitting.” I’m pressing on.

Just like Paul. Just like that old dog Tank. Don’t give up. Not halfway or three-quarters. Not when you’re closer than you think. You keep running your race and you keep pressing toward the mark.

And by the grace of God… one day you’ll hear something a whole lot better than a dog treeing in the woods. The voice of our Saviour.

I don’t know about you, but that’s a tree worth walking to every single time.