A little boy, in trouble with his mother, decided to run away from home. He took off down the sidewalk on his tricycle. A neighbor soon observed him coming past every 10 or 15 minutes. So, the neighbor stopped the little guy: “Billy, why are you going around and around the block on your trike?”
“I’m running away from home,” Billy said, “but I’m not allowed to cross the street by myself.”
We’re often like that little boy when something happens we don’t like: we ride around and around, restless, irritable, and discontent, determined to demonstrate our independence but still needing the comfort of a safe place.
It’s during trials that we most often retreat to that safe place, whatever or whomever it may be. And what kind of safe place we choose will reveal a great deal about ourselves—our fears, and our character defects.
I’ve read that if a horse barn is on fire, the owner of the horse will not only get the horse out of the burning barn, but will keep a tight rein on the horse once the animal is away from immediate danger. Why? I’ll let a horse trainer, Michelle Staples, explain it: “Although it goes against all logic, a horse will return to his stall in a burning barn. There is reason for this. If he is regularly stabled, he perceives his stall as a safe place. This is where food is available to him. When he is scared witless, this is where he will return to find that feeling of security.”
And therein lies the potential for danger when we encounter trials. We tend to retreat to our “safe places” even if those places can burn us. It could be an old habit or an addiction. It’s the place we go to feel better, or “right,” as wrong as right may be. We might intentionally pursue the thing that gives us that dopamine rush, fully aware that it’s only temporary and that the consequences can be devastating, even deadly.
But unlike an animal, we can ask God to direct our thinking. Despite the feeling that says, “You’re okay, keep traveling on this road,” if the sign warns, “bridge out ahead,” we can stop. We can turn around. We can make a decision to give it up and let God redirect our path.
The trial, instead of leading to another downward spiral, can open our eyes to who we really are deep within. And it is possible to make positive, albeit difficult, changes as we become who we are meant to be.
Ed Dobson was the pastor a large church. Dobson had what many would call a “successful” ministry. When Ed was told that his life would be over in a few short years (he died December 26, 2015), he found his priorities drastically rearranged. He decided that relationships were way more important than who was right and who was wrong, so he began mending relationships that were broken. Through the process, he grew more sensitive and humble.
And Dobson prayed. A lot. He would awake each day and pray like this: “God, thank you for waking me up this morning. I want to embrace every day, however limited my day may be, as a gift from God. I want to live this day to its fullest. I know there are things I can no longer do. I know I am facing daily limitations. But I want to focus on what I can do, not on what I cannot do. So, help me God. I know this day will never be repeated. I know I cannot live it over again. Help me to live it to its fullest.”
I don’t know about you, but I want Dobson’s attitude: I want to pray like that, for however much longer I have on this earth.
When difficult and desperate days come our way, and they will, instead of riding our little tricycles around and around in anger, we can retreat to our safe place, wherever or whatever that may be. We know it’s the right place because it’s the one God has provided—the place where we are loved and accepted and nurtured, despite, or more truly because of, the failures and fears that brought us there.