June Yates-Boykin

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Please note:  I am not a proponent of greyhound racing.  This day in my life was many years ago before the dangers to and treatment of some of the dogs were made known. 

                   Detailed, memorable dreams are a rarity for me.  When I do have one, in most cases I can determine quickly if it was about something on my mind or that I watched on TV, or if I need to pay attention.  This particular dream could have been either, but it was so vivid that I wasn’t willing to write it off as nothing.

                   I was at the dog tracks.  That I knew.  From my stadium seat I looked at the winners board where the numbers 3 – 1 – 7 lit up the coveted first, second, and third place spots.  That was the entire dream, and immediately thereafter I woke up for the day. That image burnt into my brain to the extent that I got out of bed and heard myself repeating as I carried out my normal morning routine, “3 – 1 – 7, 3 – 1 – 7, 3 – 1 – 7.”  I whispered it over and over as though trying to remember a secret code. 

                   Had it not been so dominant in my thoughts, I would have likely contributed it to the fact that my brother, Philip, and I were going to the greyhound races that day.  At that time my brother was an avid gambler.  I was a stay-at-home mom expecting my third son.  I would sometimes accompany him to the tracks just to get out of the house and do something fun. 

                   I enjoyed the show and the people, but didn’t bet.  My budget didn’t allow for chance. I  did strongly encourage Philip to bet 3 – 1 – 7,  but he was sticking to what he knew – how to read the dogs.

                   Philip bet large.  Normally, even if he didn’t win big he would win enough to cover the day out and still return home with the same money he left with.  Not on this day.  He did not do well at all.  After suffering loss in several races, I agreed with him that it was time to go before things got worse.  Then he changed his mind.  He decided since he had lost so much already, he may as well put what he had left on the next race and try to win it back.

                   He studied the dogs carefully.  “Play 3-1-7,” I said, certain they would come in.  He didn’t.  3-1-7 didn’t come in, but neither did my brother’s picks.  He was broke.

                   “You have any money on you?” he asked me. 

                   Another abnormality of the day – I actually did.  This was in the days before direct deposit, debit cards, and tap-to-pay.  Everything was done with cash or checks. (For real, that’s how things were done.)  Though I don’t remember why I kept most of the family paycheck in cash that week, this I remember well:  I had almost all of our family money for the upcoming week in my wallet. Money I myself didn’t earn, but was to use to care for and manage the household. 

                   “Give me $40,” he said to me, “this next race looks promising.” 

                   Remember, this was the 80s; $40 carried much more weight than it does today.  I was not in a good place.  I couldn’t afford to lose $40, but Philip was distressed and I had the means to help, even if I really didn’t.  So much for the fun day out.  Trying to hide my concern, I reached into my wallet and pulled out the money.  “Play 3-1-7,” I said, certain they would come in.  He didn’t.  3-1-7 didn’t come in, but neither did my brother’s picks.  

                   Repeat next race:  “Give me another $40.  Don’t worry, I’ll get it back”

                   “Play 3-1-7,” I said, certain they would come in.  He didn’t.  3-1-7 didn’t come in, but neither did my brother’s picks.  

                   And again: “Okay, we’ll try one more time.” (Yes, “I” was now “we”.)   

                   “Play 3-1-7,” I said, certain they would come in.  He didn’t.  3-1-7 didn’t come in, but neither did my brother’s picks.  

                   I watched the money dwindle from my wallet as my own fingers pulled it from its hiding place and passed it off to chance.  Legitimate fear barged in.  How am I going to explain this?  Should I just lie and say I was mugged or my purse was stolen?  Of course not.  I’m just going to have to face the consequences.  Please God, help.  I prayed for mercy as the final race got underway.

                   “How much you have left?” I was asked.

                   “75.”

                   “Okay, give me 60.  That will leave us 15 to get home on just in case.”  I gripped the money tightly and whispered yet another prayer as he continued, “We’re going to put it all on 3-1-7.  3 and 1 are favored; it’s 7 I’m worried about.  Oh well, we’re already in the hole.  May as go all in, not much left to lose.” 

                   I had a lot to lose.

                   I tried my best to relax as I watched the dogs get ready.  It was time, “He-r-r-r-re comes Zipper! And they’re off!”  The announcer shouted as the dogs stormed past their now open gates in pursuit of the mechanical bunny. 

                   Dogs 1 and 3 took off in the lead, but 7 fell seriously behind.  He was next to last, and appeared would be passed up by the only one behind.  In a barely to be heard voice I alternated between encouraging number 7 and praying.  Then the miracle.

                   As the dogs rounded the last bend and headed into the home stretch, 7 worked his way to the innermost position on the track and started running faster, passing one dog then another.  He locked his eyes on that finish line and determined within himself that he would not be a loser.  Dogs 1 and 3 continued neck and neck at the front of the pack, and 7 was quickly catching up.  Sixth…fifth…fourth. 

                   The crowd was cheering him on, but I was speechless.  Mouth hanging open and heart pounding, I kept my eyes glued on 7.  He put everything he had into that race, and caught up to the third place competitor. 

                   3 crossed the finish line with 1 not a full length behind.  From where we were standing it was difficult to tell which dog crossed third.   The next thing we heard was that a photo finish would determine the third place winner.  I closed my eyes and prayed for the hour-long minute it took for the decision.  An almost eerie silence filled the stadium.  Many who were headed out to their cars even stopped as though curiosity demanded it. 

                   The announcement resulted in hoops, hollers, and high-fives throughout the crowd, accompanied by a few torn tickets thrown into the air as disappointed faces looked downward or shook their heads.  It was 7 by a nose.  I regret that I don’t remember 7’s name, which of course was announced and applauded.  He remains fondly in my heart simply as “7”.

                   Immediately, I lived the dream.  From my stadium seat I looked out to see the numbers 3 – 1 – 7 light up the winners board.  Across the big screen was the photograph that proved 7 the third place winner.  Our merciful God had saved me from my own self.  I tried to process excitement and relief at the same time, victory and gratitude.

                   That win replaced every penny I gambled that day.  It covered the gas, lunch, and snacks.  Philip even got a little bit to put back in his pocket toward his own losses. We arrived home as evening approached, and I never went to the tracks again.

                   Why not?  I learned that day that the tracks were only fun when my brother won.  Otherwise, they were a source of fear, anxiety, sadness, and overwhelming temptation to misuse the provision that God supplied and I was entrusted with to care for my family. 

                   Knowing I was unaware of the level of duress and temptation I was walking into, our loving Father had pity on me (Psalms 103:13).  He protected me by telling me ahead of time what I needed to know to get out unharmed.  He knows what we have need of even before we ask (Matthew 6:8).

                   Once I was enlightened through this experience to the danger, I had a decision to make.  If I put myself in that situation again, it would be with eyes wide open. Then I just might have to reap what I sow (Galatians 6:7,8).  How could I expect God to miraculously bring me out of a troublesome situation time and time again if I continued to run back into it knowing the risk?

                   Our God is merciful.  His mercy endures forever and reaches farther than can imagine, but He’s not an enabler.  He reproves those He loves (Proverbs 3:12, Hebrews 12:6,7) This is usually by letting us reap the consequences of our actions.  His correction is always with love and for our own good because He wants what’s best for us.  If we continue, though, on a path that He shows us is not a good path for us, He will go to greater lengths to help us learn.  That doesn’t mean He won’t forgive us or show compassion when we repent, but it does mean we often learn the hard way what He tried to teach us easily. 

                   In John 5 is told the story of when Jesus healed a man from a thirty-eight year infirmity.  Jesus  said to the man, “Go and sin no more, lest a worse thing come upon you.”  This principle does not apply only to going back into a sinful lifestyle that may have caused a physical illness  It doesn’t apply only to things that are a sin.  It applies to unwise or choices we make at any level.  It applies to deliberately going places or putting ourselves in positions where we know we will likely suffer harm or be tempted to wrongdoing.  It applies to any situation we get ourselves into, but that God in His mercy rescues us from. 

                   I wish  I could say I have learned all my lessons as quickly as the one I learned that day.  Some I have; others I have not. Some I have had to learn the hard way because I simply did not heed the word or the warning.  I’m more careful about that now. 

                   Based on my own experiences, I am a firm believe that our Father starts with the easiest possible means of teaching us.  That would be His word and/or speaking to our spirits.  After that, progressively difficult consequences often result until we accept and are willing to abide by His counsel or commands. So let’s all learn to listen the first time and save ourselves a lot of grief.

                   Before I got myself into that dilemma at the tracks, God had already made a way for my escape.  However, the fact that I needed to escape let me know it was not a good situation.  I wasn’t forced or coerced to go.  I for sure didn’t have to go with all my cash in hand.  I opened the door to the enemy that day by not using wisdom or discerning the dangers. 

                   The great take away for me was not only a reinforcement of God’s love and mercy toward us, but also a valuable lesson that can be summed up in just six words:  Neither give place to the devil. (Ephesians 4:27).

                   Although it doesn’t add to nor take away from the point of this writing, I can’t help but share one more thing before I go.  I find it slightly peculiar; I think you will, too.

                   A few short months after that day at the tracks, my third son was born.  Arriving about a week before his due date, he was born March 17^th.  3 – 1 – 7.

© 2024

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Be encouraged and inspired by previous posts:

• A Day with The Dogs
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• Be Careful How You Listen
• Preparing for Those Times When There’s No Time to Prepare
• Confronting the Dangers of Weariness
• I Want My Eyelashes Back
• Moments I Can’t Undo
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• Get Over Yourself and Climb a Tree
• Little Black Box
• That’s Not Soon Enough
• Trust the God in You
• A Word Fitly Spoken
• A Light in the House
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• Where He Leads
• To the Mountaintop
• Rahab’s Rescue
• Lazy River
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