Years ago, my Dad told me a story about something his father did down in the backwoods of Georgia. It is one of those family stories that is almost impossible to forget.
Grandpa had a watermelon patch, and apparently one of his neighbors had developed quite an appreciation for his watermelons.
She was a rather heavyset woman who would climb over the fence, walk into Grandpa's patch, choose a watermelon, and carry it home as though she had every right in the world to do so.
Grandpa would see her and yell.
She would keep going.
But stealing the watermelon apparently wasn't quite enough. When she reached the fence on her way home, she would climb over, turn around, lift the back of her dress, and give Grandpa one final gesture of defiance before disappearing with his watermelon.
And this wasn't a one-time occurrence.
She kept coming back.
Grandpa warned her. She ignored him. He yelled at her. She ignored that too. Every successful trip across that fence apparently made the next one easier.
Eventually Grandpa decided that words weren't accomplishing anything.
So he came up with a solution that could probably only have originated in rural Georgia many years ago.
He took two shotgun shells, removed the regular shot, replaced it with hamburger and rock salt, loaded his double-barrel shotgun, and waited.
Sure enough, his watermelon customer eventually returned.
Over the fence she came. Into the patch she went. She chose another watermelon and headed home.
Grandpa was ready.
She climbed back over the fence and, apparently unable to resist tradition, turned around and lifted her dress.
Grandpa let her have both barrels.
According to Dad, she shook her fist, shouted a few things that probably would not have been appropriate in church, and continued home.
But she never stole another watermelon from Grandpa.
You can learn a lot from an irritated Georgia watermelon farmer.
Here are six things I have begun to see in Grandpa's story.
1. Choices eventually have consequences.
For a while, the woman could cross the fence, take a watermelon, and get away with it. But getting away with something for a time does not mean there will never be consequences.
God's patience should never be mistaken for His approval.
2. What we repeat eventually becomes easier.
The first trip across that fence may have bothered her conscience. But the second was probably easier, and the tenth easier still.
Sin works that way. Ignore the conscience once, and it becomes easier to ignore it again. What begins as a choice can slowly become a habit.
3. The fence was there for a reason.
That fence was not Grandpa's attempt to make his neighbor miserable. It marked a boundary and protected something that belonged to him.
God's commandments are boundaries too. They are not there because God wants to make life difficult. They protect life, relationships, truth, trust, families—and our relationship with Him.
4. Sin can eventually turn into defiance.
The woman did more than steal a watermelon. She mocked the man she was stealing from.
That may be one of the most serious lessons in the story. Sin can move us from “I probably shouldn't do this” to “Who are you to tell me I shouldn't do this?”
Eventually we can stop resenting the sin and begin resenting the One who warns us about it.
5. Consequences can finally teach what warnings did not.
This one has to be understood carefully.
God is not standing on the other side of the fence waiting to hurt us when we cross it. Jesus showed us exactly the opposite.
But if we repeatedly ignore God's warnings, He may allow us to discover what our choices actually produce. The prodigal son's father did not create the famine or the pigpen. He allowed his son to travel the road he had chosen until the son finally understood where that road led.
Sometimes the painful lesson is simply discovering that God was trying to protect us all along.
And perhaps all 5 lessons finally come together here:
Sin first teaches us to ignore God's warnings. Then it teaches us to resent the One who warned us. But every warning God gives is really an invitation: “Please don't go this way. I know where this road ends. Come back to Me.”
Unlike Grandpa beside his watermelon patch, God is not waiting with both barrels.
He is waiting with both arms, open wide.
