Life

Get Back on the Horse?

/ Bill Jones / Leave a comment

Daniel on a pony

He was a pony working at my friend’s birthday party. I was a five year-old kid sitting on his back. Something spooked him, and off he went with the pony version of a bucking bronco. Pony version or not, it still sent me flying and put me on the ground with a thud. I cried from the terror but, thankfully, wasn’t hurt.

My father rushed over, picked me up and made sure I was OK. After a few minutes, he asked if I  wanted to give it another try. I, in effect, said “let me think about that a minute – No!”

The old adage is that if you fall off a horse, get back on quickly or you never will. I guess that’s correct  because I ignored that advice and have never gotten back on a horse. At this point, I don’t have plans to.

The other time I got personal with (but not on) one was back when my cousins kept a horse near their home. They hadn’t ridden him for a while, so he had reverted into “wild” mode. We were trying to get him back in a pen. My older cousin put me in position and told me to stay right there no matter what.

As the other cousins maneuvered around behind the horse, he took off right at me. I didn’t see any hesitation in the thousand-pound animal running my way, so I didn’t hesitate to jump out of his way. My cousin bawled me out good for not holding my ground. I appropriately hung my head in shame, while thinking “I’m sorry, but I just didn’t feel that getting your horse back in the pen was worth dying for.”

It’s not that I don’t think horses are magnificent creatures. Sharon and I once spent a memorable day touring horse farms around Lexington, Kentucky. Seeing them run and play, hearing the stories, and watching videos of the exciting come-from-behind victories of the beautiful horse standing in the stall next to us didn’t make us experts. But, it did get me to the point that I can get goosebumps watching a race just from knowing a bit about what it means to the horse. (There is no cruelty there – they live to run!)

Do I regret not getting back on that pony sixty years ago? Not really. My life has been so full of blessings and opportunities from the Lord that I can’t begin to remember them all. I don’t know how I would have worked riding horses into the mix. And, at this point, I don’t think I was supposed to.

All of that can be like the Christian life. There will be times we’ll try things in service to God and people, and we’ll get “bucked off”. We remind ourselves we can’t, and aren’t meant to, do everything. But, we also have to take more consideration than a five year old boy deciding not to get back on the pony. It could be a situation where God expects us to get back on in order to be blessed and not have regrets later on.
Galatians 6:9—”Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.”

A World of Choices

/ Bill Jones / Leave a comment

More Volunteer Flowers – thankfully, I was paying attention while cutting the grass in the “back forty” (OK, it’s only a “back one” but “back forty” sounds neater).
The other night my wife, Sharon, and I were talking about being blessed to be able to make choices. That’s deeper than you might think – start with the fact that you have a place to live and food on the table. That opens up a world of choices on what you plan to do today.
I thought about that when I realized the long list of blessings that together allowed me to be able to choose to leave these beauties alone.

That Little Warning “Bell”

/ Bill Jones / Leave a comment

odometer reading 1

My twenty-year-old Ford Ranger’s odometer reads over 471,000 miles. As would be expected, there are several things that aren’t quite “showroom floor” functional. The gear indicator on the steering column no longer matches up correctly, so if you position the pointer to “N” and plan to sit still, don’t be surprised if you start moving backwards.

The cover to the front seat console is missing. Someone threw a brick through the passenger window to look for stealable stuff years ago in an Atlanta Hotel parking lot. As they searched, instead of pushing the button and easily opening the console cover, they felt it necessary to just rip it off.

The “check engine” light came on last year and the problem was a malfunctioning emissions valve in the gas tank filler tube. Weighing the several hundred dollars it would cost to replace it versus the mechanic’s statement of “it won’t cause any problems,” it was an easy decision to leave it alone.

While the malfunctioning valve hasn’t caused problems, it does make an interesting sound. Now and then, when the engine is idling, a snuffly “whaaamff” sound comes from inside the filler tube. I can’t describe the sound exactly, but it reminds me of what a trumpeting heffalump, from the Winnie the Pooh stories, might sound like.

While the heffalump trumpet is neat, the truck has another sound that still functions, and I’ve  given a heartfelt “Thank You!” for it many times. It’s that little bell that dings when I open the door and have left the lights on. It’s reminder that I need to “think about what I’m doing” sure has saved me much trouble through the years. I don’t believe I’ve ever ignored it.

Reminds me of the warning the Holy Spirit gives us when we’re about to say or do something wrong and should really stop and think. I wish I could say I’ve never ignored that “bell”, but I can say when I have paid attention, it’s saved me much trouble through many years and miles. Much more than twenty years and 471,000 miles. That’s a lot to be thankful for.

“Quench not the Spirit” 1 Thessalonians 5:19

 

 

Reblog of The Comfort of a Garden

/ Bill Jones / Leave a comment

My reblog didn’t work apparently so I’ll do it this way. Christine Goodnough posted this poem on her Christine’s Collection blog. Good poem about the garden and how so many of us feel about it.

In The Garden

by Edgar Guest

I sometimes get weary of people
and weary of being polite;
I sometimes grow tired of the dull man,
and sometimes am bored by the bright.
And then when my nerves are a-tingle,
I walk in the yard that is ours,
And I thank the good Lord for the comfort
of songbirds and blue skies and flowers.

I never grow tired of the martens
which circle about overhead;
I never grow weary of robins —
there is nothing about them I dread.
I smile when I see them returning,
I sigh when at last they depart,
and perhaps it’s because they are never
vindictive or petty or smart.

And the trees don’t expect to be talked to.
I can lie there and dream in the shade
and not have to think up an answer
to some dreary question that’s made.
So I often slip into my garden
when I’m weary of hearing things said,
and thank the good Lord for my roses
and trees and the birds overhead.

From the book, Collected Verse of Edgar A. Guest,
©1934 by the Reilly & Lee Co