At 26 months, little Rebecca holds her audience of one Mama spellbound as she relates the story of the Three Little Pigs. It is filled with emotion and hope, fear and trepidation. Finally the story reaches its climax. The Big Bad Wolf pounds on the door of the third Little Pig’s house.

In her best Big Bad Wolf voice, Rebecca pleads, “Unlock this door, Little Piggy. I’m hungry.”

Silence.

I wait.

Does the Little Pig let Big Bad in? Does Big Bad eat Little? What happens? This Mama needs to know!

Rebecca closes the book, sets it down, and looks me seriously in the eyes.

“Mama. I wouldn’t let the Big Bad Wolf in our house.”

“Neither would I,” I assure her.

And off she runs, her trusting smile pushing out her cherubic cheeks, her soft curls bouncing at the nape of her neck.

“Or would I?” I ask myself.

How often does the Big Bad Wolf come knocking on my door and I open it with a warm welcome? He doesn’t always announce his intentions as bluntly as Rebecca’s wolf: “I’m hungry. I’m going to eat you and your children as soon as you open this door.”

He doesn’t always wear an identifying tag: “Caution: Big and Bad. Stay away!”

Sometimes he comes in the form of a negative thought, all too easy to nurse and grow.

Sometimes he shows up as a catalog of “needs,” too easily twisting joy into grumbling and malcontent.

He slides in through magazines and websites, seemingly innocuous, turning attention toward obtaining an ideal–the perfect homeschool, the well-adjusted family, the ideal marriage, the successful businessman, the cool mom status, the clean (or even clean-ish) home.

He surfs in riding the wave of the media–a curse word here, suggestive commercial there, inappropriate song messages everywhere.

He even rides in on the backs of family and friends–a little gossip, a few comparisons, misplaced criticism.

He can be the inexplicable lure of a wild time or the entrapment of legalism. He can be the controlling arm of anxiety or the sneaky grip of fear. He can be the desire to fit in–fashionably, financially, socially, in the world or in the church. He can be the temptation of complacency–good enough, close enough, just enough. He can be the eternal lie–I can make it without Christ. He can be a small nagging doubt–am I “Christian” enough? am I good enough? is grace enough?

God knew Big Bad would come knocking. He knew the Little Piggies would be in danger. He cautions us to be alert, to be wary, to be vigilant in our discernment when guarding against the wolf.

He also knew that sometimes these straw and stick houses of ours would not be able to stand up to all that huffing and puffing. That’s where his promise comes in, a promise of hope for all the Little Piggies…and Little Lambs, too. A promise for me. A promise for my Littles. A promise for you.

I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep. The hired hand is not the shepherd who owns the sheep. So when he sees the wolf coming, he abandons the sheep and runs away. Then the wolf attacks the flock and scatters it. The man runs away because he is a hired hand and cares nothing for the sheep.

I am the good shepherd; I know my sheep and my sheep know me— just as the Father knows me and I know the Father—and I lay down my life for the sheep. John 10:1-15: ”

Take that, Big Bad Wolf!

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