Well Done

I found myself in college at Virginia Tech, dogless and living alone in a small apartment. That season of life didn’t arrive by accident. It came on the heels of some major failures and a few impressive lapses in judgment. My first semester GPA in college was the academic equivalent of what a CD paid during the Great Depression.

Somewhere along the way, things began to turn. I started understanding responsibility and wanted a dog. So I did what people used to do before the internet. I looked in the newspaper.

I found an ad for a cockapoo, part cocker spaniel and part standard poodle. I was poodoodling in the 90’s. I found a little apricot-colored male and named him Beau Brammel, after the stylish gentleman I had once read about.

To this day, Beau remains the smartest, most cooperative dog I have ever owned. It was like he understood English. Not just commands, but intent. He wanted to do what pleased the master.

Beau was unbelievably well-behaved. He loved people but never forced himself on them. He waited. He watched. He learned every trick I taught him, and if someone mentioned a new one, I couldn’t wait to see how fast he would figure it out.

After Belinda and I were married, my mother gave us a white sofa for a formal living room. We let Beau know immediately that he was not allowed on that couch. And as far as we could tell, he obeyed.

At least at first.

Beau was so smart it amazed us. One day I watched him sit by a large picture window and watch us pull out of the driveway to go to work. The moment he thought we disappeared, he hopped up on that white couch and made himself comfortable. What was even funnier was that when we came home, he hopped right back down, went downstairs, and acted like he had never been there.

Beau went everywhere with me. He rode in the front seat of my truck and learned how I drove. He would see curves coming and start leaning before I ever turned the wheel. I’ve been told my driving increases people’s prayer lives.

Beau was there for my college graduation, my farm job, and he accepted my wife Belinda when I married her. Beau is the single reason my wife likes dogs to this day.

I had Beau for about fourteen years, until the day I buried him. L

Beau wasn’t a purebred. He wasn’t registered. He didn’t have papers or pedigree. But obedience took him places no registration ever could. Because he listened, he was trusted. Because he was trusted, he was included. He went wherever I went, not because of what he was, but because of how he lived.

Jesus said it this way:

“If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (John 14:15, ESV).

Obedience wasn’t Beau trying to earn my approval. He already had that. Obedience was simply the natural response of a dog who loved his master and wanted to please him. In the same way, our obedience doesn’t earn God’s love. It flows from it.

Luke adds another layer when Jesus says,

“Whoever is faithful in very little is also faithful in much” (Luke 16:10, ESV).

Beau was faithful in the small things. Sitting when told. Waiting when asked. Listening even when no one was watching (most of the time). And because he was faithful in little things, I trusted him with bigger ones. More freedom. More access. More life. God works the same way with us.

Faithfulness opens doors we never could force open on our own.

Then there’s Samuel’s reminder:

“To obey is better than sacrifice” (1 Samuel 15:22, ESV).

God has never been impressed by outward show. He isn’t moved by spiritual noise or religious performance. What He desires is a heart that listens, trusts, and responds. Quiet obedience has always mattered more to Him than loud gestures.

Obedience didn’t limit Beau’s life. It expanded it.

And that truth stays with me.

I hope one day, when I stand before God, He looks at me the way I used to look at Beau. Not impressed by pedigree. Not dazzled by accomplishments. Just pleased, Proud, and maybe even a little amazed. And I hope to hear Him say the words every faithful servant longs for:

Well done thy good and faithful servant!