The Day That Pablo Got It Right

I'd like to introduce you to Pablo Erikson, descendant of the great Viking warhorses. In all honesty his heritage probably isn't that grand, but if you knew him you would understand the embellishment. Pablo is a character.

We became well acquainted on my first trail clearing ride at Glorieta. He was our packhorse and carried the chainsaws, fuel and other tools. When we reached the top of Baldy after a 4+ hour ride, we stopped for lunch and turned the horses loose to graze. Pablo, friendly fellow that he is, came over to see if what we were eating was more tasty than grass and took interest in my sandwich. I thought it was cute and hopped up to snap a photo. Much to my surprise, when I returned to my seat there was a large bite missing out of my lunch!  That was just the beginning... Pablo kept my life interesting by mastering the art of snatching Lefty's wallet out of his back pocket, fitting an entire lead rope in his mouth like a wad of gum, blowing out his belly to keep his cinch loose and giving me the innocent look when I came out of the tackroom to see what the disturbance was at the tie rail.

Known as the horse with the mohawk, he often lived up to it and was a real punk. But every now and again, the mischief gave way to a glimpse of something brighter. One of those times came on a day when the mud was so deep it was seeping into the tops of my boots. The trails were much too slick to ride and so I was filling my day with barn chores. About half way through the morning I decided to let the horses out into a small area of grass we had fenced off with electric wire for grazing. Since I was going to be at the barn, I could keep an eye on them and let them enjoy the good grass - a rare treat in New Mexico!

So, I started making my way out into the pasture, whistling and calling. The mud and muck were deep and slick and I slipped, slid and almost face planted several times. When I finally found a few of the herd, I started making my way behind them to drive them in, thinking all the while how much they were going to enjoy that grass. However, as soon as they sensed my intention to take them in, they snorted, wheeled and ran away into the hills. They thought I was going to make them work. I started to follow, slipped once more and realized that it was useless - there was no way I was going to catch them in footing that bad. 

Frustrated and muddy I headed back to the barn. As I rounded the corner to the catch pen, I heard a noise and looked up. There was Pablo looking expectantly at me, "Hi! I'm here! What are we going to do?" I laughed, patted his neck and led him out to the grazing area where he spent several hours with the grass all to himself (the stuff of dreams for that pony).

As I walked away, recalled that C.S. Lewis once wrote we are all like children who continue making mudpies because we cannot imagine what is meant by a holiday at the sea.  I wondered how many times Jesus had wanted to offer me green pastures and I chose mud instead. I'll probably never know in this life, but the day that Pablo got it right has inspired me to keep my heart open for any sea holidays that might look like just more work at first glance.

I'm Ok With Eight Out Of Twelve

Back in October I wrote a post called Story Bricks about how God had put it on my heart to start writing again and committed to posting once a week from then until the end of the year. Well, I just tallied eight posts in twelve weeks. Math isn't my strong suit, but that's not quite once a week. A few years ago, that would have really bothered me. I would have beaten myself up mentally for not making my goal and then probably quit writing because I was frustrated with not keeping up. However, the past few years have been quite the journey in grace for my go-get-'em perfectionist side.

You see, when you're put flat on your back (literally) with a severe injury, you receive a crash course in grace whether you want it or not. All of the sudden there are things you simply cannot do...and there are even more things that you should not do because the long term consequences greatly outweigh the any short term gain. And thus, you learn to say "I can't." I know...it's much cooler to say that "can't" isn't in my vocabulary, but bear with me here as I explain the way I've learned to think about "can't."

1. It's ok to say "I can't" when there's something greater at risk. For me this started with having to say to myself "I can't do ____________ without risking my ability to walk the rest of my life." Walking is pretty important to me, so that helped keep things in perspective. I've since learned to carry this thought process into other situations such as "I can't help with this wonderful ministry that needs help without risking ___________________ (blank being something important I know deserves priority)." This is important because if I don't prioritize I risk burnout.
2. Sometimes "I can't" is really "I can't yet." Recovery can be an excruciatingly slow process, but if you try to rush it, you can end up frustrated or - worse - re-injured. Growing in life is often the same way. It takes a slow, steady plodding and a recognition that you're just human after all (and you wouldn't look good in spandex anyway). You have to give yourself the grace to grow.
3. Having to admit that "I can't" opens the door for me to receive grace from others. I've always loved helping others but have been a bit resistant to receiving help. However, after being forced into requiring it, I've learned that there is something deeply touching when people truly help you. Often this means having to explain why you can't (as much as the situation warrants, anyhow) so that people understand what is going on.
   But I have been pleasantly surprised by how willing people are to both understand and help. From my college roommate who was willing to help me with things like getting boxes off shelves to my current roommate who is re-learning to cook with me after I discovered that I am gluten intolerant (even though she is not) and many people in between, I have discovered the quiet yet surprisingly rich blessing that comes in letting others journey with you though helping. 

In these ways I have put "can't" back in to my vocabulary and truly believe that I am better off for it. And so, I'm able to say that I'm ok with eight out of twelve. I managed to keep my priorities fairly straight during those twelve weeks. Also, I have learned a lot about my writing process, including the fact that my ideas have to "stew" for a while. I'd still like to get to where I'm posting once a week, but I'm not there yet. Thus, I will keep writing with that goal in mind and humbly ask for the help of anyone out there reading this to encourage me to keep going (comments are a great way to do that, btw).  Journey on!