Have you watched as others have been set off, promoted, while you’re still waiting in the starting gate? Maybe you’re moving along in the race of life, but the pace isn’t what you’d thought and everybody is passing you up. Racehorses, brave, long-limbed, shiny, and brisk speed by in a furlong, two, three… eight… yet for all of your preparation, you haven’t even finished one. And your mount is not a racehorse at all, but a donkey. A beast of burden that has more whoa than go, no matter how you dig your heels in to spur it on. Sometimes the animal lowers its hind and sits on the track, refusing to budge. The amount of effort it takes for you to get the donkey off its rump and going again, moving ahead, is exhausting. And the breeze fanning your hair, caused by the magnificent horses whizzing past carrying their lightweight riders, doesn’t help. It doesn’t even inspire; in fact, it bums you out if you watch them for too long. Because everyone’s gotten a golden horse while you’re still riding that donkey.
Well, at least you’re on the racetrack. Just remember, Yeshua chose for himself a donkey to ride. The King of Peace will promote you when it’s his time. It will be unique and most outstanding, a surprise from heaven. Well worth the wait. You might even overtake all the other racehorses. I mean, God made a donkey talk to Balaam (Numbers 22:28-31). Donkeys are special. Who says yours won’t sprout wings like a Pegasus and fly you to the finish line? Ahead of all the pretty horses, even. Boom-boom and you’re there, just like that. Nothing is impossible to the all-things-possible God. Bada-bing, bada-boom; His timing is perfect. And if mythological flying animals aren’t your thing, then maybe your advancement looks more like this:
Keep on keepin’ on… You’re still in the race. The win is yours.
Wisdom Is Her Name
I might have done a strange thing as a child when I asked for wisdom... I’m not sure. I wasn’t around peers too much to find out if this is what they did too, since my formative years took place in the boonies. My only friends were animals, especially horses. It’s just the way things were. I don’t mind. I had a solid upbringing with loving parents and siblings, and I adored my lot of furry companions who didn’t seem to mind my quirky quests.
And I couldn’t say I understood what or who God was, although I’m quite certain of his presence. My mother was my primary spiritual teacher, and she’d tell me stories about important things—things I embrace even stronger today. Because I still hear her voice, though she has passed from this life into the next. Wisdom was something she spoke and sang of often, and her multi-layered lessons, like colors in paintings, enthralled me so much that I remember being not older than five, six, or seven years old and asking for Wisdom to grace my life in bright hues.
“Do not forsake wisdom, and she will protect you; love her, and she will watch over you. The beginning of wisdom is this: Get wisdom. Though it cost all you have, get understanding.” Proverbs is one of my favorite books, touching often on wisdom, and this verse comes from 4:6-7.
I’ve heard others use the expression, sometimes jokingly, that a person gains wisdom by making mistakes; the more mistakes made, the wiser you are. Is this what it means for something to cost all you have to gain? Well, when I, owning a catalog of cringeworthy mistakes, walk into any crowded room, all eyes should fall on me, and in unison the people cry out, “All hail the Wisest One of All.” But that never happens—thank God!
Circumstances beyond control cause a person to open their eyes, see reality for what it is instead of through a bubble (if there was a bubble to begin with). And choices. And mistakes. And results, as well as responses from others. If I knew then what I know now... You’ve heard the phrase. It goes along with the error of one’s ways.
All this to say, Wisdom is good; cherish her. One day, her benefits and nurturing rapport will shine through.
“Wisdom comes alone with suffering.”—Aeschylus
The Woman Strayed, Solo-Hiking Memoir
A woman solo hiked the PCT. This is her engaging rite-of-passage memoir, Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail. I could hardly put the book down, strong was my desire to gobble up every trail and survival detail. I love hiking, along with exploring the backcountry on horses, and primitive camping. While my own two feet have traversed sections of both the PCT and the AT (Appalachian Trail), I can only, thus far, live vicariously through those who have actually “thru-hiked.” Cheryl Strayed didn’t exactly hike through, having started in the Mojave Desert in California and finished at the Bridge of the Gods connecting Oregon to Washington, but she covered 1,100 miles on her weary, blistered, nail-less toes, having started out ill-prepared and untrained. That’s nothing to scoff at, by any stretch. That’s gutsy.
**potential spoilers below**
The writing is sharp and the storytelling vivid. I trekked into the pages assuming I could relate to the author as I, too, lost both my parents. I know what it’s like when your family unit sort of disintegrates due to grief; when the strong root is dug up, or the anchor is hoisted leaving you feeling adrift. Yet, I couldn’t grasp the author’s perspective on a number of levels. From her form of recklessness and promiscuity, to feeling a life force—though the size of a grain of rice—recognizing she was pregnant, and then using “I got an abortion” and “learned how to make dehydrated tuna flakes” in the same sentence. I couldn’t comprehend why her editors kept in the dalliance with “rad” man, as it had nothing to do with the story and certainly didn’t move it along. I didn’t understand why she unreasonably obliterated a solid marriage to a great guy, or how she expressed pain. And the incident with her mom’s horse, Lady: horrid. Choices, choices!
Still, her descriptions of nature when compared to her state of being proved starkly eloquent. When she hadn’t seen another human for weeks. When silence was tremendous. When she expressed that she was nothing to pebbles, leaves, and branches, yet they were everything to her. “Everything but me seems utterly certain of itself. The sky didn’t wonder where it was.”
When she did have encounters with other characters, they were interesting. Clyde’s words moved me while he said he didn’t believe in reincarnation when Cheryl had asked him. He said, “I believe we’re here once and what we do matters.”
And Cheryl’s mom having cancer that consumed her before she reached 50. I understood the tragedy of it. And the painful truths that came also from the mom’s mouth, about how she never got to conduct her own life—to be in the driver’s seat. She always did what someone else wanted her to do. The most uncomfortable sentiment, “I’ve always been someone’s daughter or mother or wife. I’ve never just been me.” Sorrowful authenticity is a killer.
So, you see, Wild was a weighty, ugly-beautiful book. Hard to rate. It’s like life, you take the good with the bad—which I suppose is the theme of this chronicle. Although I’m a different-thinking person from that of the author, with a contrasting belief system and grief display, and I didn’t quite see in my mind a “healing” take place, I admire Strayed who “strayed” and wrote for us a compelling memoir to digest.
Riding & Writing Blog
My horse-based contemporary romance novel I wrote a few years back, Madeleine's Ranch, is currently being promoted on Riding & Writing.
As a novel often will reflect an author’s personal experience, perception, or interest, I thought I’d also include a few pics here of some these great loves in life…
My publisher is working on combining The Brother’s Keep series into one set. This coming April, all four of my YA romantic fantasy novellas will be available in one volume via Soul Mate Publishing. The cover was just revealed to me, and now I’m revealing it to you. Symbols from each of the novellas are represented in this gorgeous new cover (love!). Sharing today’s news from my happy camp.
is a storyteller, and a transcript editor. She's also a Romans 8:28 kind of Jewish girl ...
RETURN MY HEART