Killing Cubs.

For you know it is best to kill the lion while it is a cub.

John Ploughman’s Talk, by C.H. Spurgeon

My eyes tripped over that statement several years ago in Spurgeon’s collection of wise and pithy sayings, *John Ploughman’s Talk, a little gem I purchased from Lamplighter Publishing www.lamplighter.net. I jerked my gaze from the book with a ‘humph’, stared straight ahead, then contemplated its meaning.

For you know (actually, no, I hadn’t) it is best to kill the lion (seems kinda harsh, Lord) while it is a cub (oh, but, they’re so darn cute).

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I marked the statement in ink…

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Even dog-eared the page. Good golly, did I have cubs in my midst? Or even cubs in my heart, my mind, or my soul?

Apparently, yes. Enough to fill a zoo.

~When my child stood his ground and refused to leave Target because I wouldn’t buy the trading cards he wanted, I left his backside near the checkout counter, circled the front of the store in my car until he surrendered. Had to kill the cub.

~When Sunday mornings became the target of complaint, any post-worship service requests for a Happy Meal were denied. Had to kill the cub.

~When my child’s tone of voice became snitty and her room left a mess, the coveted cell phone privilege was revoked. Had to kill the cub.

~When dishonesty disfigured my child’s face, intent on erecting a rampart in his heart against Almighty God, the car keys became mine. Had to kill the cub.

Oh yeah. Then there’s me. When the spirit of unforgiveness began to make a nest in my soul, I had to kill that cub. Or when I began to sink in the mire of ingratitude, why that not-so-darling little cub had to be killed, too…before it bred into a pride of lions.

Left alone and ignored, these cubs would have grown to corrupt, confuse, conquer, or kill. And who wants that?


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The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.

Matthew 3:10, Luke 3:9

*Every minister has put his hand to the plough; and it is his business to break up the fallow ground. That I have written in a semi-humorous vein needs no apology….There is no particular virtue in being seriously unreadable. C. H. Surgeon