Bear Spray
Is trusting God a lesson that both sticks and still needs repeating?
Do you hum when you’re nervous? That tends to be my unique default.
Do you hum when you’re nervous? That tends to be my unique default.
While vacationing in the Grand Teton National Park, we gave our children the option to kayak a lake or ride horses up through the mountain trails. Without hesitation, our oldest chose the lake, and my husband happily joined her. Anticipating adventure, I headed toward the stables with our other two.
It was the kind of day you wish you could put in your pocket and keep. The scenery was picturesque, and the horses were impressive. Upon signing the necessary waivers, we met our guide and were handed the reins. My reins were attached to a solid black, extra-tall horse named Victor. At the guide’s whistle, Victor stepped forward, and for reasons unknown to me in the moment, placed me in front of my children.
The trail started gently, a lazy continuum of rolling land. Relaxed, I talked to God and made note of the wildflowers. Then a steep turn took us to the right.
The right made me nervous! I watched as our guide’s horse climbed up what he referred to as a small hill, but I would call the side of a mountain. Ever chatty when I’m nervous, I began to hum.
I was unaware of Victor’s thoughts; he kept to the task at hand. I don’t know what our guide was thinking either, but he obviously sensed my nerves and welcomed my small talk. He explained that Victor had boldly stepped forward, because he tended to try and pass on the narrow trail overlooking the mountain if other horses were in front of him. I refrained from pointing out to our youthfully confident guide that his horse was in front of me! But the real why-didn’t-I-choose-the-lake-moment came when I asked what he was carrying. Without hesitation, he said, “bear spray.” I further asked if he had used it, my intent being ever or at all. Smiling and turning up the trail, he replied, “Not today ma’am.”
I recall thinking, “Terrific! I can barely look left, I’m watching Victor’s feet with every step, and now I’m scanning the woody wilderness for bears!”
Thankfully, God knows and understands me. Our guide may have been surprised I was humming (possibly singing) the alphabet song, but God surely knew that it was a coping skill to distract from all the what-if scenarios in my brain.
Ever the mom, I allowed myself to turn in the saddle to see my children. And by turn, I mean glance over my shoulder. The image that greeted me silenced my humming. Our son, unaware of bear danger and oblivious to the trail’s edge, was reclining on his horse! Having wrapped the reins around the saddle horn, he was stroking the flanks of his newfound furry friend. I was dumbstruck; words failed me, as did my scream.
Forget the what-ifs, this was a serious concern, even our cheerful guide raised an eyebrow. With sincere cowboy concern, he looked at our son and said, “Hey, you might want to hang on.”
I quietly gave some very firm instructions, turned around, and took several deep breaths. In a place marked by beauty, I was a ball of nerves. I felt it, owned it, and then I made a decision to let go. Not of the reins --Victor was still being Victor-- but of the need to control. I let go of the need to be both aware of and prepared for every possibility. Sitting horseback, I dissolved into God’s presence. I chose to trust Him, and I calmed. In the middle of everything going on inside me and around me, I sensed the Lord’s nearness, His overseeing care, and His ability to keep watch. All that I could not foresee or control was in the care of the One who loved me most. God was guiding – leading me through it all.
That afternoon, we reached the top, we took pictures, and we laughed. I breathed in the scenery playing out before and below me. God’s mountains were amazing and proved to be even more magnificent on the trail’s decline.
Our son never held onto the reins as securely as I would have liked, but on the adventure, he was joyfully reclining. Since that day in the Tetons, God often brings that image to mind and calls my heart to wrap around the lesson of trust. Trust that is beyond my control or my comfort zone. And when I’m nervous, God listens to the tune I hum and invites me into conversation.
On every trail and within every trial, our loving God carries the bear spray.
Big Love,
Jo
It was the kind of day you wish you could put in your pocket and keep. The scenery was picturesque, and the horses were impressive. Upon signing the necessary waivers, we met our guide and were handed the reins. My reins were attached to a solid black, extra-tall horse named Victor. At the guide’s whistle, Victor stepped forward, and for reasons unknown to me in the moment, placed me in front of my children.
The trail started gently, a lazy continuum of rolling land. Relaxed, I talked to God and made note of the wildflowers. Then a steep turn took us to the right.
The right made me nervous! I watched as our guide’s horse climbed up what he referred to as a small hill, but I would call the side of a mountain. Ever chatty when I’m nervous, I began to hum.
I was unaware of Victor’s thoughts; he kept to the task at hand. I don’t know what our guide was thinking either, but he obviously sensed my nerves and welcomed my small talk. He explained that Victor had boldly stepped forward, because he tended to try and pass on the narrow trail overlooking the mountain if other horses were in front of him. I refrained from pointing out to our youthfully confident guide that his horse was in front of me! But the real why-didn’t-I-choose-the-lake-moment came when I asked what he was carrying. Without hesitation, he said, “bear spray.” I further asked if he had used it, my intent being ever or at all. Smiling and turning up the trail, he replied, “Not today ma’am.”
I recall thinking, “Terrific! I can barely look left, I’m watching Victor’s feet with every step, and now I’m scanning the woody wilderness for bears!”
Thankfully, God knows and understands me. Our guide may have been surprised I was humming (possibly singing) the alphabet song, but God surely knew that it was a coping skill to distract from all the what-if scenarios in my brain.
Ever the mom, I allowed myself to turn in the saddle to see my children. And by turn, I mean glance over my shoulder. The image that greeted me silenced my humming. Our son, unaware of bear danger and oblivious to the trail’s edge, was reclining on his horse! Having wrapped the reins around the saddle horn, he was stroking the flanks of his newfound furry friend. I was dumbstruck; words failed me, as did my scream.
Forget the what-ifs, this was a serious concern, even our cheerful guide raised an eyebrow. With sincere cowboy concern, he looked at our son and said, “Hey, you might want to hang on.”
I quietly gave some very firm instructions, turned around, and took several deep breaths. In a place marked by beauty, I was a ball of nerves. I felt it, owned it, and then I made a decision to let go. Not of the reins --Victor was still being Victor-- but of the need to control. I let go of the need to be both aware of and prepared for every possibility. Sitting horseback, I dissolved into God’s presence. I chose to trust Him, and I calmed. In the middle of everything going on inside me and around me, I sensed the Lord’s nearness, His overseeing care, and His ability to keep watch. All that I could not foresee or control was in the care of the One who loved me most. God was guiding – leading me through it all.
That afternoon, we reached the top, we took pictures, and we laughed. I breathed in the scenery playing out before and below me. God’s mountains were amazing and proved to be even more magnificent on the trail’s decline.
Our son never held onto the reins as securely as I would have liked, but on the adventure, he was joyfully reclining. Since that day in the Tetons, God often brings that image to mind and calls my heart to wrap around the lesson of trust. Trust that is beyond my control or my comfort zone. And when I’m nervous, God listens to the tune I hum and invites me into conversation.
On every trail and within every trial, our loving God carries the bear spray.
Big Love,
Jo
A Message for You:
Friend, I don’t know the trail you walk or the trial you face, but God does; He is a faithful, continually present Guide. In both our backyard and in unfamiliar territory, we are invited to trust Him. Along the steep edge of danger, we can joyfully recline, because He is with us. No peril exists that will keep us from His loving hand. Trusting in Him is a lesson that both sticks and still needs repeating, and it’s a decision that is ours to make. When you find that you are a ball of nerves, breathe and whisper a prayer. And if humming is your nervous move, hum to Abba God; there is not a tune He cannot name.
Start the conversation. What do you need to tell God? What do you need to hear from Him?
Friend, I don’t know the trail you walk or the trial you face, but God does; He is a faithful, continually present Guide. In both our backyard and in unfamiliar territory, we are invited to trust Him. Along the steep edge of danger, we can joyfully recline, because He is with us. No peril exists that will keep us from His loving hand. Trusting in Him is a lesson that both sticks and still needs repeating, and it’s a decision that is ours to make. When you find that you are a ball of nerves, breathe and whisper a prayer. And if humming is your nervous move, hum to Abba God; there is not a tune He cannot name.
Start the conversation. What do you need to tell God? What do you need to hear from Him?
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