Back In The Saddle Again

One of the richest experiences I had growing up was living on the family’s four acre farm. While it was maybe only two years of my life, I have been blessed with a treasure of memories from that time when I was about seven or eight years old.

One of the new experiences for us on the farm was the opportunity to raise farm animals. As I recall, we had the usual assortment including a cow, chickens, turkeys, a lamb, cats, and an extremely protective farm dog. And what farm would be complete without a horse. Unfortunately, a horse wasn’t within the budget.

I mean cows give milk, chickens can provide you eggs (or sometimes fried chicken), turkeys are great at Thanksgiving and Christmas, a lamb (a 4-H project for my brother Ken) teaches responsibility and then gets sold, cats help keep the rodents down, and a good protective dog is a wealth of security on a farm. A horse on a place as small as ours would only be expensive entertainment.

But then, as things worked out, a Methodist minister in the small Colorado town near our farm needed a place to keep his horse and burro. (For those of you who might not be familiar with burros, they are best described as small donkeys.) The horse was a pregnant Appaloosa mare named “Chili”. The burro was named "Taterbug" and was a good source of company for Chili, and amusement for us as kids.

Chili was a gentle enough horse and we were thrilled to have the opportunity to ride her (although my sister, Jean might remember her a little differently). When I recently asked my dad about how long we had the horse, Dad simply replied, “Long enough for her to throw Jean off and break her arm.” I had forgotten about that, but I hadn’t forgotten being thrown off myself.

Now, this is the way that I remember it, but at my age, memories can be funny things, sometimes. I had remembered it as yet another of the many misadventures that my older brother, Ken, got me into. But my younger brother remembered it as being him that I was with. Regardless, I am sure I was there.

Usually, whenever we rode Chili, the fastest she was willing to take us was a bone-jarring trot. On this particular day, Ken convinced me to ride “double” with him, putting me just behind the saddle hanging onto his waist. The plan was that we were going to get her to gallop--a faster and much smoother ride. On cue, we both began to kick her sides and whoop and hollar encouraging her onward. Chili started out trotting, but we were relentless in pushing her for more.

Then about the time one of us exclaimed, “She galloping!” The other shouted, “No! She’s BUCKING!” And with that, it was over. Both of us found ourselves quickly dispatched into the weeds. Neither one of us suffered major injuries, other than to our pride, and we hurried to the house for comfort from Mom. I know that I was crying and I suspect Ken was too, but I was being very open about it, while Ken was probably trying to keep it in.

Mom checked to make sure we weren’t hurt, then said, “Well, the best thing you can do is go right back out there and get back on her.” Ken disappeared. I tried to get myself back together and quit crying. I was in shock! Go back out there? What, go back out there and see if I can really get hurt this time!?!

Nevertheless, I knew that she was right and that I needed to face my fear. So after several more minutes and a few more tears, I went back out. Chili was in the pasture grazing. I approached her ever so slowly--probably talking softly to her saying something like, “Please don’t kill me!”--and got a hold on her reins. She had calmed down more than I had and allowed me to lead her over to the haystack. I managed to climb up onto the bales of hay and ever so carefully ease myself down onto the saddle.

Then . . . well . . . then nothing. She stood still and I sat still. I made no demands of her--not even the hint of a request. I just sat. I didn’t stay on long, but it was long enough to no longer feel so afraid.

I had fulfilled the instruction that Mom had given me to the letter. (And not one letter more!) I had faced my fear! I was going to live to see another day! Not only that, but I had “bested” my older brother, who remained “disappeared.” It was a good feeling. It was richly satisfying. I had not gone down in defeat--although I did opt for a negotiated truce with Chili and released my dreams of galloping on a pregnant mare!

So, how many of us have fears today that we need to face? I just thought I would try to encourage you to face your fears, and remember as Moses said to Joshua:

“. . . the LORD, He is the One who goes before you. He will be with you, He will not leave you nor forsake you; do not fear nor be dismayed.” Deuteronomy 31:8



Author's Note: Now, in the interest of full disclosure, it could very well be that Ken was not the one that got me into the situation, but rather my younger brother, John, who made the infamous ride with me. But it reads better the other way and leaves me with a little less responsibility for the results when I portray myself as the younger impressionable brother! So I hope you can forgive me (if in fact it was my younger brother) for re-writing history to suit my purposes. After all, I'm not running for office here! I'm just trying to tell a story!

Also of note is that Chili lived through the ordeal as well, and went on to give birth to her colt on one of the coldest days of the year, through a barbed-wire fence! Yep, when she had fully delivered the colt, she was on one side of the fence and the colt was on the other. Other than a few scratches, both were fine.

Starting Out Strong . . . Once Again.

Here we are approaching the end of yet another month. October is nearly gone and I have done less writing on my blog, than in any other month since I started it. I am saddened by that fact and this is why.

When I first started my blog, I looked at many other blogs for ideas. What I found time after time was that many people started out strong, but didn’t last long. I vowed that it wouldn’t happen to me. I was determined to write every week, and maybe even two or three times a week. I started out strong.

What happened? Interference. Like doing anything that is worthwhile, there were opposing forces trying to make sure that I was not able to do what I set out to do. Sometimes it was just busyness, sometimes it was personal conflicts, sometimes it was challenges at work, sometimes it was impending national issues or even global problems that pulled at my attention. Mostly, I just didn’t know what to write because I hadn't taken the time to get quiet and listen. It is all too easy to just get a little overwhelmed at times.

“ ‘So, now what? Whatcha-gonna-do-now?’ ” --to borrow a quote from my second posting.

“Well, I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I am going to step out in FAITH. . . and write.”--once again.

And maybe I won’t have any earth shattering revelation to share with you this time and I may not even have something big for you the next time that I write. But I will continue to write because I know that this is what I’m supposed to do. I just have to get up and take another run at it.

I mean who says you can’t start out strong more than once?

Losing Sight of What's in Your Toy Box

An associate from work reminded me of something that I had not thought of recently. As part of my weekly routine, I print and distribute full work schedules to each individual employee in addition to the “store copy“ of the schedule which gets posted in the backroom of our store. I think of these individual copies as “refrigerator copies,” because my intent is for each associate to have a copy at home to refer to since their work schedules vary from week to week.

Not only do the copies provide them with a view of their own schedule, it also allows them to see everyone’s schedule for the week. This becomes very useful when an associate needs to make an unexpected change after the schedule has been posted, as sometimes happens. Typically, my associates will take the initiative to work out a “fix” between themselves, to insure that the schedule is covered, by seeing who can fill in for them. Once they have it worked out, they then approach me for approval of the plan. (In case you didn’t recognize it, that’s called Teamwork! And, yes, I am very blessed to have a wonderful team of individuals working with me!)

The other day while I was distributing next week’s schedule, one of my associates said that she didn’t need her schedule, because her schedule doesn’t change very much from one week to the next. Since I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to have a little fun, I pretended to be highly offended and even went as far as to white-out her name on her copy and make it the “store copy.” Upon realizing what I was doing she changed her mind and began to plead with me that she needed her copy so she could see who she was working with. I assured her it was too late now, and threw in a little mocking of her saying that she didn’t need her schedule. She became so desperate to have a copy that when I wasn’t looking, she took my own copy, crossed out my name and put her name on it!

Now, understand that this was all done in fun. But it did cause me to consider how often we take for granted things that we have, until we see them being taken away from us. We are just like a little kid, who’s mom is going through his toy box getting rid of long forgotten toys. He stands there looking at her in disbelief because he can’t believe that his mom would be asking him to part with such a treasured item! How quickly we lose sight of how blessed we are until those blessings are being pulled from us.

So, today, do your best to not take for granted that you are loved, sheltered, fed and clothed. Or that you live in a country where you get to decided much of your path, rather than having it decided for you. And just take some time to do an inventory of what you do have, rather than always looking at what you do not have. I’m sure you’ll come away feeling very blessed. I know I do, already!

Is Anyone Listening?

Has anyone else noticed that there is a lot going on in our country, as well as in the world today? (I know, I know, “Just a slight understatement there, Robert!”) There is the economic crisis, the political turmoil, the threats of terrorism, and on and on it goes. There is so much yet to be resolved. And it seems at times, there is so little progress towards resolution.

I find myself very challenged by all of this. The challenge for me is how to stay informed (as a good citizen should be) without becoming overwhelmed by all of it. And the even bigger challenge for me is how to sort through all the noise that people are making on all sides of the issues, so I can find what I believe to be the paths that we should take to try to solve our problems, and then find a way to support those directions.

So I just wanted to share an observation. In watching opposing sides on issues “discuss” their viewpoints, I am struck by how little listening is going on. All too often, they seem to spend all of their time talking over each other, in ever increasing volume levels, with ever increasing anger, until no one can pick out much of anything from what is being said.

We all have been guilty of not listening. I’m reminded of how many times each day that instead of really listening to what someone is saying, I am thinking about what I am going to say next. As a result, I set myself up to miss out on so much by not focusing on what is being said by others.

One thing that I discovered when I was growing up came out of the fact that I was shy and not willing to speak out much in my classes in school. I would sit and listen to all that was being said in discussions about a particular topic. Time and again I would realize something that others were missing simply because they were so focussed on what they were saying, that they forgot to listen to each other. All I did was piece together parts of what was being said and then muster up the courage to speak. As a result, I would look a whole lot more intelligent than I really was.

So this is what I want to share with you. As I have been listening to those debating their opposing viewpoints, I have been reminded again and again where the Bible gives us the following simple instruction that I think would benefit us all:

"So then, my beloved brethren, let every man be swift to hear, slow to speak, slow to wrath; for the wrath of man does not produce the righteousness of God." James 1:19-20 (NKJ)

My wish for each of you this day is that you might have a day full of listening and peace.

My Love For You, My Precious Wife

A soft, warm thought of you caresses my mind and brings a quiet smile to my heart. A swell of deep felt emotion builds until it overwhelms me as I long to be near you and hold you in my arms. How I want you to know my love for you!

My love for you is relentless! My love for you is forever unconditional! My love for you has no end! I willingly give you my life!

How I long to sustain you in my love! How I long to protect you in my love! How I wish you could know my love in all its fullness, and rest there, secure, at peace, in my love, for all of your days.

Come away with me, my love, to that place where our two loves meet as one. Where nothing can stand against us! Where joy overflows! Where sweet victory is ours!

Come away with me, my love, to that wondrous place of knowing without speaking. And remain there, with me, forever.


by Robert A. McArthur

A Tale of Two Teachers (part 2)

Of all of the teachers that I have had over the years, there are only a handful that I remember and even those I don’t remember very well. Some I remember fondly, others I could stand to forget. Mostly, I remember the phrases that they would repeat over and over again. “Use your time wisely,” one teacher would say in a nasally tone, at an elevated volume to speak over the noise of a class that was obviously not doing so. Or, “I’m a busy man!” from a hyperactive little man who was very caught up in his own importance and who wore his pants too high for his 97 pound frame. When this same man would vigorously erase the chalk board with his right hand, his left hand would work the air just as hard.

Others I remember for a particular moment in time, like the time our school was experiencing some pretty serious racial tensions and the school had gone on “lock down”.

“Mr. Jones, to the office, please. MISTER JONES!”

That was the signal for teachers to lock the doors and keep all of their students in the classrooms. It was supposed to keep the students from panicking, but everyone knew their was no “Mr. Jones.” So, naturally, everyone ran to the windows to get a look at what was going on. The teacher tried in vain to get us away from the windows and regain control of her classroom. She even suggested that we sing a song together. And so she started with the only song that came to her mind, “Happy Birthday.” No one joined in. I just looked at her in disbelief. As I recall, she was the only one panicked by what was happening. Everyone else just seemed curious. I wish now that I had tried to offer her some comfort.

But this is supposed to be a tale of two teachers, so please excuse the little side journey. The second teacher I wanted to tell you about was my English teacher in my senior year of high school. Whenever I think about the teachers that I have had, she is usually the first one to come to mind. I owe her a great debt of gratitude.

I don’t even remember much about her, but these things I do remember. She was kind. She smiled. She acted like she liked her students. She came off as a little out of touch with the present day, but in a wholesome sort of way. Most of all, I remember her as an encourager, to all of her students.

It was a time in my life that I was trying to build up my self-confidence. And she was trying to help me to find my gifts and reach my potential. It was something a slightly under performing student like myself really needed.

I remember a particular project that she had us do. My subject had something to do with different forms of poetry. We were to present our projects in front of the class, but also in front of a video camera. I was very nervous and can only imagine that it showed. I was reading some of the examples that I had written to illustrate my points. As I was finishing up, she gently interrupted me and encouraged me to share a few more of the examples I had written.

When the taping was done and the camera was off she commented on my work. She didn’t tell me I slouched or that I needed to take my hands out of my pockets. She didn’t tell me I needed to speak louder. She didn’t mention that I was shaking like a leaf or that I stumbled all over myself or that there was no flow to my presentation.

Instead, she smiled as she commented on how well she liked my examples. Then she said, “You command such a presence when you are up there.” I’m not sure I understood what she meant at the time, but I do know it felt good. It felt good because I knew that she saw beyond the obvious and saw the possibilities.

That is how I believe God sees us. And maybe--just maybe--because He can see beyond the obvious, it makes us a little more lovable.

Maybe if we could see others as God sees them, we might find them a little more lovable, too.

A Tale of Two Teachers (part 1)

She was a bitter, tired, frustrated, mean-spirited old woman who had long since lost any love of teaching that she had ever had, and was left hanging on to the only thing she knew to do to sustain herself, until she could finally, mercifully, retire. Looking back, I wonder what horrible life experiences she had that brought her to that place, back in the early 1970’s. What was her heartbreaking story? What could have hurt her so badly that this was the best she had to offer? But back then, I could have cared less. When I wasn’t busy fearing her or avoiding her, I just despised her.

She taught Algebra in the high school I attended. It was well known that she was the one algebra teacher that no one wanted to get. So when I got my schedule that year, I knew that I was in trouble. I was a decent student (though a little under-performing) and usually made A’s and B’s. I wasn’t used to failing. She was, in her own twisted way, determined to make sure that I didn’t fail, and thus sealed my fate. I failed her class miserably.

I have never had a person humiliate me in front of my peers like she did. She seemed to delight in having the ones of us who weren’t “getting it” work problems in front of the class on the chalk board. If we didn’t understand how to work the equation, she would leave us standing there, relentlessly chiding us for not seeing the obvious solution, until the bell finally rang and she would be forced to set us free. I already had very low self-confidence, and as skinny, overly tall, awkward teenager, I just froze it those situations, unable to focus on solving the problem for feeling ashamed and embarrassed by being singled out and put on display.

There were many other things that she did to make sure I felt like a total idiot, but I think that you can get the idea without me going into further detail. As a result of that experience, I found myself avoiding anything that had to do with math. I took the easiest math courses that I could get away with in college. I already knew that algebra was out of the question. I wasn’t going to set myself up to fail, and she had thoroughly convinced me that I would.

Many years later, I decided to pursue some additional schooling at the community college where I live. I was told I would have to take algebra. I started the class with a great deal of anxiety, but soon discovered that I understood the material and actually found it fairly easy. I passed with an “A”.

Here’s my thought in looking back at all this. A lot of who we are is determined by how we deal with what life brings us. We have all heard great stories of how a person has overcome terrible experiences and done great things in spite of them. Wouldn’t it be great if it always worked that way for everyone? It is here where I see the mercy of God at work.

My real concern is for the people who don’t take responsibility for how they treat others, not realizing--or maybe not caring--that in their words and actions is the power create or destroy. Even more frightening is when a person knows that they are cruel, and feels that because they are older, or because of some position of authority they have, they have a right to be that way and don’t have to take responsibility for it. No, we should always hold ourselves accountable for what we say and how we act.

Most of us would never set out to drive a knife into someone’s heart, but to many of us do so by our words alone. The Bible tells us,

“Death and life are in the power of the tongue . . .” Proverbs 18:21a (NKJ)