Lovely Statements: I Believe in You.

Meet the dog that cooked your dinner for four centuries — then vanished without a trace.

Three words can change someone's life: I believe in you. But do you actually mean it? This episode unpacks what genuine belief in people looks like — and what it costs when we stop.

A special note of thanks to Paul Hawthorne for bringing the power of this sentence to my attention and for believing in me along the way.

"Remember, you are loved, so go, love better!"

Transcript

When you think of a working dog, what comes to mind? For me, it’s probably a sled dog — a broad-shouldered Malamute or determined husky pulling with all its might across the Arctic tundra. Or maybe your picture is a border collie whisking across the English countryside, responding to the shepherd’s commands as it guides sheep from field to field. Maybe it’s a golden retriever carrying a duck back to its master, or a pointer guiding a hunter toward his prey.

Throughout history, working dogs have been the rule instead of the exception. Today it’s quite different — most canines are kept as pets — but we tend to imagine working dogs meeting certain criteria: larger animals, highly intelligent, carrying some degree of honor or dignity. The German shepherd, the Siberian Husky, the ever-loyal Lassie.

But what if I told you that the hardest-worked dog in all of history was considered neither dignified nor honorable, and by most people, was considered unworthy of anything but disdain?

I’m Scott Beyer and this is the Love Better Podcast where we explore the truths and the lies about love and, more importantly, how to turn love into a skill — something we can get better at and hone along the way.

This episode is the third in a series I call “lovely statements” — things we can sincerely say that will show love, improve our relationships, and help us in the ongoing work of loving better and glorifying God through our lives, because God is love and the world is better when we love like Jesus does. The lovely statement for this episode is:

“I believe in you,”

and we’re going to discuss the biblical principles behind this idea by looking at what happens to a dog when nobody believes in it.

The formal name for this dog is the Vernepator Cur — Latin for “the dog that turns the wheel.”

Its more familiar name was the turnspit dog, because that’s what they did — they turned the spit. Also known as the kitchen dog, the cooking dog, and the wheeling dog, the turnspit dog was first mentioned in 1576 in the first book on dogs ever written. Zoologist Carl Linnaeus called them Canis Vertigus — Latin for “dizzy dog” — because they were turning all the time.

Turnspit dogs were regulars in any home of affluence from the 1500s until about 1900. When meat was to be roasted, one of these dogs was hoisted into a wooden wheel mounted on the wall near the fireplace. The wheel was connected by a chain or pulley to the spit so that as the dog ran, the meat turned. Before dogs were employed, the fireplace spit was turned by the lowliest person on the kitchen staff — usually a small boy who stood behind a bale of wet hay for protection from the heat as he turned the meat for hours on end. Even that protection was often not enough, and the conditions were brutal in a world where human equality was not valued and children were exploited. The turnspit dog changed all of that. Jan Bondeson, author of Amazing Dogs, describes the scene: “The roar of the fire, the clanking of the spit, the patter from the little dog’s feet. The wheels were put up quite high on the wall, far from the fire, in order for the dogs not to overheat and faint.”

Turnspit dogs were solely owned by the wealthy. Yet the dogs themselves were considered the lowest of the low. Small, low-bodied, with short crooked front legs, a heavy head, and drooping ears — standing only 8 to 12 inches high and weighing around 20 pounds — they were described as having a “rather mutty appearance.” Edward Jesse, writing in 1846, called them “long-bodied, crooked-legged, and ugly dogs, with a suspicious, unhappy look about them, as if they were weary of the task they had to do and expected every moment to be seized upon to perform it.”

Turnspit dogs were treated like kitchen utensils — pieces of machinery rather than living creatures. They were scolded or beaten if they stopped for even a moment’s rest. And when modern machinery eventually arrived, the breed was simply lost — too lowly to document, too common to preserve. Nobody thought they were worth keeping track of.

Despite their treatment, turnspit dogs were quite clever. They understood the rhythm of their work so well that when their shift was done, most would leap out of the wheel on their own and switch places with the next dog. Most wealthy households kept at least two, working them in shifts — and on their days off, these same dogs doubled as foot warmers. Their owners would even take them to church. There’s a wonderful story from the city of Bath where a minister began preaching about Ezekiel’s vision of the cherubim’s wheels, and at the mere mention of the word “wheel,” several turnspit dogs that had been brought along as foot warmers bolted straight for the door.

In 1750, turnspit dogs were everywhere. By 1900, they were gone. Today there is just one turn-spit dog left in the world: a cute little fellow preserved through taxidermy who now resides posthumously at Abergavenny Museum in Wales.

There is much more I could tell you about this kitchen dog, but here’s what I want you to learn from them: when we stop believing something has value, it disappears.

In Paul’s first letter to the church at Corinth, he describes what love is and why it matters. Among love’s characteristics, he writes: “Love believes all things.”

To properly understand the power of “I believe in you,” we have to understand what Paul meant by that. And maybe the best place to start is what he couldn’t have meant. It doesn’t mean love is gullible — because love also rejoices in truth, so it can’t be naively blind to the evidence in front of it. Paul knew the darkness of the human heart and spoke plainly about how many in the church had once lived lives full of sin and selfishness. “Love believes all things” is not ignorant of that darkness, nor blindly optimistic when there is ample evidence that people will fail.

To use the turnspit dog as an illustration: “love believes all things” does not pretend a kitchen dog is a border collie or a majestic Siberian husky. Love still sees people for what they are — it just believes there’s something worth restoring, even when the world has declared them worthless or obsolete.

This idea is captured in Galatians 6 when Paul says, “Brothers, if anyone is caught in any transgression, you who are spiritual should restore him in a spirit of gentleness.”

We don’t ignore the transgression — we recognize there’s something worth restoring.

“I believe in you” is also the spirit behind Romans 15, where Paul addresses a church made up of two vastly different cultures — Jewish and Roman — who had so little in common that most assumed they could never find unity. But Paul says in Romans 15:7-9: “Therefore, accept one another, just as Christ also accepted us to the glory of God. For I say that Christ has become a servant to the circumcision — that is, the Jew — on behalf of the truth of God to confirm the promises given to the fathers, and for the Gentiles — that is, the Romans — to glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, ‘Therefore I will give praise to you among the Gentiles, and I will sing to your name.’”

The unity of the early church depended on Christians believing in one another — trusting that despite different backgrounds, personalities, and cultural tendencies, those differences could become strengths if they would accept each other. If they could sincerely say: I believe in you.

“I believe in you” is both an affirmation of value and a recognition of what someone is capable of. And it’s something you can offer even before someone has earned it — after all, Jesus died for us while we were still sinners.

Sometimes believing in people is simply an act of patience. In 2 Peter 3:9, we’re told the Lord “is not slow to fulfill his promise, as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance.” When you believe in someone, you believe they can change. You believe repentance is an option. You believe they are worth the time.

Unfortunately, I suspect most of us have a stronger tendency to think of people the way the world thought of the turnspit dog — valuable only when they have something to offer, and forgotten the moment their usefulness runs out. But that is not love.

Your spouse will fail you. Your children will fail you. Other Christians will fail you. But love believes all things. It is possible to believe in the people you love — knowing full well they will sometimes act in unloving, uncharitable ways — without being naive or gullible about it.

An excellent example is John 8, where a woman caught in adultery is brought before Jesus. After driving away the accusers clamoring for her to be stoned, Jesus turns to her and says, “Go and sin no more.” He didn’t deny that she had sinned — but he believed in a future for her. He believed repentance and change were possible. “I believe in you” gives somebody hope, and sometimes someone else’s belief in us is exactly what we need to start believing in ourselves.

Another example is Barnabas and John Mark. After John Mark left Paul and Barnabas mid-journey, Paul refused to give him another chance on the next trip. Barnabas disagreed. He took John Mark under his wing, invested in him, and stuck by him. The end result? Even the skeptical Paul had to come around. In 2 Timothy 4:11, he writes: “Bring Mark with you, for he is useful to me for ministry.” Barnabas’s belief in John Mark didn’t just restore one man — it gave the church one of its most important voices.

“I believe in you” looks forward to what people are capable of becoming. It sees them not as static, utilitarian beings, but as seeds waiting to grow.

In Luke 13, Jesus tells a parable about a man with a fig tree that hadn’t produced fruit in three years. The owner says to the vine dresser: “Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground?” But the vine dresser answers: “Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure. Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good, but if not, you can cut it down.”

The vine dresser isn’t naive — he sees clearly that the tree has not borne fruit. But he says: give it one more year. Let me try one more thing. He’s not writing it off. He’s investing in it. Unlike the world that simply let the turnspit dog fade from memory, he’s willing to dig around it and see what grows.

Maybe there are people in your life who just need one more try.

Maybe there is distance in your marriage that you think you’ll never close — but really it just needs one more try.

Maybe you’ve been burned by other Christians, and bitterness has started to creep in. Don’t let it. Give it one more try.

I believe in you.

Because when we say “I believe in you,” we’re generally doing one of three things:

#1 We may be providing the most charitable interpretation of their behavior.

Yes, what they said was hurtful. Yes, their actions weren’t as thoughtful as they should have been. But love believes all things. In 1 Peter 4:8, we’re told to “above all love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.” Giving someone the benefit of the doubt is one of the most concrete ways we believe in them.

#2 We may be leaving room for repentance and change.

In Romans 2, Paul addresses the person who is quick to judge others. “Do you suppose, O man, you who judge those who practice such things and yet do them yourself, that you will escape the judgment of God? Or do you presume on the riches of his kindness and forbearance and patience, not knowing that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?”

We love it when God is patient with us — when he believes in us enough to leave us room to repent. We have to do the same for others. “I believe in you” is a way of saying: even though change is necessary, I believe change is possible.

#3 We may be praising people when we see them doing what’s right.

Hebrews 10:24-25 says: “Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another and all the more as you see the day drawing near.” The assembly of Christians is meant to be a habitually encouraging place — because when we walk out into the world, it can be a very discouraging one. If we’re not building each other up, who will? “I believe in you” is looking someone in the eyes and saying: “I see you, I see the work you’re doing, I know it isn’t easy — keep going.”

In the 1850s, when a man named Henry Bergh encountered turnspit dogs being worked to exhaustion in the hotel kitchens of Manhattan, he couldn’t walk away. That belief didn’t just help a few dogs — it eventually became the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, an institution built on the premise that living things matter even after they stop being useful to us.

And after that, he realized there was another group that was being mistreated – those kids working in sweltering heat and in horrible child labor conditions.  So he founded a second institution – The New York Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children – the world’s first child protective agency.

Because it turns out that when you see value in one thing – even a lowly dog – you start to believe in better things for other groups, too.  Love believes all things has a compassionate momentum to it.

Henry Bergh wasn’t successful in saving the turnspit breed… but his compassion for them led to a long an illustrious future for short-legged, heavy headed, crooked legged dogs.

Today, the Pembroke Welsh Corgi is the closest relative of the lowly Turnspit.  And those adorable fluff-balls have been warming the feet of their families since they debuted in the show rings of Wales in 1925.  From the lowest of breeds to warming the feet of the Queen Elizabeth the 2nd and prancing through the grounds of Buckingham Palace.  It turns out a short-legged, dwarf dog has a place in this world after all.

God has been saying “I believe in you” to humanity since the garden. He said it when He sent His Son. His patience says it as He gives us room to repent rather than writing us off. His providence says it every time He calls all things to work together for good for those who love the Lord.

And if we wish to be His disciples, we need to start saying it to people, too.

Learn to love better — learn to tell the people in your life.

I believe in you.

If you’ve listened this far, hopefully we’ve done something to help make your life a little bit better. Would you mind returning the favor and helping us by subscribing to the podcast through your favorite platform?

If you are looking for other resources, you can visit my website BibleGrad.com where you can find tools for Bible study and video lessons to help you understand the Bible. If you are interested, you can sign up for a video series challenge through the website called the #HopeDoes challenge. Two short videos each week and a chance to grow in your hope by doing hopeful things. Just go to BibleGrad.com, scroll down and enter your email to get started.

Or if you run across a fascinating piece of history, a feel-good story, or some scientific insight that makes you think, “That would fit Love Better,” send it my way. Some of my favorite conversations start with something a listener shares. You can always email me directly at scott@biblegrad.com

And if you are ever in the Louisville, KY area, I’d like to invite you to come worship with me and my family at the Eastland congregation. We meet for worship every Sunday and have Bible classes for all ages on Wednesdays, too. If you want more information about Eastland, visit us at eastlandchristians.org. We would love to worship God with you and help you on your walk of faith.

And as always, until next time, “Remember, you are loved, so go… love better.”