Since Mary Sue and I live on a small farm and have the privilege of tending four rescued horses (three “wild” mustangs and one exceedingly retired thoroughbred), people frequently ask if I like to ride.
In a word, No.
I adore the horses. I love the rhythm of carrying hay bales, filling water buckets, mucking stalls, and shoveling manure. For me, barn chores are something akin to a daily devotional experience. But I leave the riding to my wife and daughter Katy, who lives just a few miles up the road. Why should I risk life and limb by climbing atop 1,000-pound wild animals?
Actually, I’ve always been saddle-shy. The last time I rode, in fact, was at least 25 years ago, when Mary Sue and I visited the community of Beaver Creek, Colorado, high up in the Rocky Mountains. While we’re not into winter sports, we have loved our rare opportunities to enjoy alpine settings during the warm months.
Our visit to Beaver Creek came at the beginning of summer. Mary Sue was excited to discover that we could sign up for a three-hour, high altitude trail ride. Would I like to join her?
Oh sure, I replied, not entirely certain what this might entail.
We joined about two dozen other wannabe cowboys at the local corral. “How many of you are experienced riders?” My wife put up her hand and was escorted to a particularly energetic-looking horse. Its name seemed to reveal its personality. I remember it began with the letter S – Sparky or Stardust or something.
“How many of you are beginners?” I put up my hand and was escorted to an older-looking, laidback horse standing off to one side. His name was Bob.
The man who was preparing him for the ride said, seemingly out of the blue, “Yeah, we didn’t know if Bob was going to make it back for another season.” Great. I’m about to spend three hours alongside sheer drop-offs on the back of a horse who just heard his handler say he ought to be home collecting Social Security.
It was a memorable adventure. Bob gravitated to what seemed to be his familiar place at the end of the line. From time to time Mary Sue came back to check on me and to offer pointers.
“Now remember,” she said, “you need to remind your horse that you’re in charge. You can’t let him stop whenever he wants and just start eating – like he’s doing right now.” Bob had indeed decided this was the right moment to let everyone know exactly who was in charge. It definitely wasn’t me.
The next morning I was so sore I could hardly walk.
I’m content to savor my memories of that one afternoon on the high trail, and to confine my current equestrian activities to those that allow me to keep both feet on the ground.
In truth, I suspect that part of my decision, especially as I grow older, has had something to do with minimizing risk. It just seems wise not to be riding Biscuit, Fiona, Breezy, or Notcho if they should suddenly begin to have a bad day.
But avoiding such risks, ironically, also turns out to be risky.
That’s because risk is closely associated with growth. As the old saying goes, no risk means no reward.
What is far and away America’s favorite flavor of ice cream? It’s vanilla, of course. What if I choose one of those 31 varieties at Baskin and Robbins and make a mistake? It’s far better to go with the sure thing than to roll the dice and be disappointed.
But in the long run, settling for a vanilla life may prove to be the real disappointment.
Psychologists have done considerable research on what people do when they’re confronted with difficult situations and uncertain outcomes.
Ask yourself this question: Do you generally face challenges head-on, or do you tend to wimp out? Do you take risks and take action, or play it safe and run away?
During the last decades of the 20th century, a great many authors, educators, preachers, and talk show hosts announced that giving children the gift of self-esteem – through stickers, applause, participation trophies, recognition, and higher grades – would assure them of happier lives and make the world a better place.
But subsequent research has demonstrated just the opposite. Self-esteem cannot be given away like Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to trick-or-treaters. Self-esteem is chiefly a gift that we give to ourselves.
It’s a gift that becomes ours when we choose to be brave instead of being afraid, when we choose to face problems instead of running in the opposite direction.
A pattern of avoidance gradually crushes our inner sense of esteem. Whenever we courageously face a difficult situation head-on, we're likely to feel a little rush of joy. But whenever we back down or back off, we die a little.
The fascinating thing is that even if things do not work out – even if the risk doesn’t yield the hoped-for results – we still end up growing. This is simply the way God has hardwired human hearts.
That observation sheds light on Jesus’ Parable of the Talents (Matthew 25:14-30). A master entrusts three of his servants with, respectively, five talents, three talents, and one talent – each talent representing a significant amount of money during Bible times.
The first two servants invest what they receive. They “put their money to work,” so speak. Their risks pay off. They each hear from the master, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”
The third servant, however, hesitates.
When it’s time for his accountability conversation with the master he says, "I know that you are a hard man, harvesting where you have not sown and gathering where you have not scattered seed. So I was afraid [notice those words] and went out and hid your talent in the ground. See, here is what belongs to you."
It seems evident at this moment that the third servant expects applause. He awaits his attaboy. His mission is accomplished: Despite everything that could possibly have gone wrong, at least he didn't fail. He made sure of that.
What a shock he receives. The master erupts, "Why didn't you at least put my money on deposit with the bankers, so that when I returned I would have received it back with interest?"
Why is the master so disappointed? It’s not because the servant was a management failure. In fact, failure would have been fine. Failure would have implied that some action had been taken.
The fearful servant is rebuked for attempting nothing. Because he was afraid of taking a risk, he played it safe. He even rationalizes that he has done the master a favor by not losing what he had been given – thereby failing to grasp that the essence of life is to risk the resources, opportunities, gifts, and challenges that God continues to place before us.
You’d think that God would most value those who play it safe and don’t take chances, who never get carried away by stepping out. But it isn’t so.
There is a Day coming, Jesus announces, when each of us is going to have an accountability conversation. It will concern the decisions we have made at every crossroads – the big ones and the little ones alike – that have shaped our character and turned us into the men and women we have actually become.
Between today and that Day, fear will always whisper that God isn’t big enough to handle what we have to face. He isn’t going to show up. We’re not really safe in God’s hands.
But we can choose to be brave.
Unless we take risks, we will never find out whether God’s presence and power are all we really need.
When you think about it, that’s the one thing in life truly worth finding out. And, “Well done, good and faithful servant,” are the only words ultimately worth hearing.
As a risk-taker who’s still very much a work in progress, you can take it from me: That’s good advice.
And it comes straight from the horse’s mouth.
Comments