The year: 2003. I think. I was horseback riding with my friend Judy from college. We were at a place near Asheville, NC where we could be led by experts on a winding trail. One of the advertising points was that you could see the Biltmore House, the most beautiful mansion ever built on American soil, from the trail. And so, figuring I would be a natural with a horse, I found myself atop the tallest creature I'd ever seen (looking back, he wasn't even the biggest horse they had that day). Our first lesson was in mounting the horse: Solid B+. Next, signaling the horse to turn, stop and start: not so solid C+. I kept making the horse go backward when I wanted it to stand still. We nearly backed into a car. The man in charge, who appeared to have nerves of steel and the patience of a saint, was already tired of me before I was sent to the little circular track where I was to practice my new skills. So, off we went, round and round, slooooooowly. I was okay with turning, and great with starting, but stopping was a whole 'nother beast, as it were. My horse kept going backward when I wanted to just sit still.
Sigh.
While I was practicing, my horse got bored and decided it would be more fun to go for a run. As he took off, my body took over, and I pulled the reins and - miraculously - he stopped! We started off again, only to have a repeat of the same scenario. This happened several times, and when it was finally time to start our ride, I was a pro at stopping. (I'm still waiting for the promised Cardboard Cookie.)
At last, we were put into some sort of order, and off we went onto the trail. Please keep in mind that this was a trail in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains, so we were reminded to stay sharp. One wrong turn of the reins meant that horse and rider were going on a rolling tour to the bottom of a gorge.
We rode for a while until we reached a point in the trail where we were all single file. There was barely enough room on the trail for two horses side-by-side, so us rookies had to go nose-to-tail until the trail widened up a little. Our guide pointed off into the distance and we saw it at last! The Biltmore Estate! And it was.... Tiny! If I'd had binoculars, I could have probably made out how many floors there were to the house. I was underwhelmed.
As we started again, I heard a noise on the hill to my left. Assuming it was a squirrel or some varment, I chose not to look. Suddenly from behind me, I heard the rider behind me yell "GO GO GO!"
Before I even knew what was happening, my body took over again. My heels dug into the horse, who immediately darted forward. Just as quickly, I nearly ran out of room, so I pulled the reins and my horse stopped. In his tracks. That's when I heard the loudest crash I'd heard, coming from directly behind me. Everyone was able to maintain control of their horses, and when we turned back, every jaw dropped open: There on the trail, in the space previously occupied by my horse and me, was a downed tree. A tree, folks! The noise I'd heard wasn't an animal, but the roots of the old tree finally giving up the ghost.
I stopped and looked around. My horse and I were side-by-side with another horse on the skinniest part of the trail. And I'd stopped him. If we'd continued any further, we would have taken that rolling tour.
Soon our tour continued (the riders behind me got to practice going backward, which I had already mastered thank-you-very-much), and not long after that, I was bidding my horse farewell.
Looking back, I wonder at the way I was prepared for my adventure before it happened. While I was annoyed at the weird things my horse was doing, it was preparing me in ways I couldn't have known for my big moment to come. If he hadn't been acting crazy, I wouldn't have been able to stop him at the time I needed him to stop.
Think for a moment about all the little things that test your patience every day: red lights, deadlines, rude people, waiting in line, the list goes on. But the patience we earn from those experiences often come to save us in the moments we need it most: sick relatives, car accidents, the most trying times of your life. The things that we think are tests turn out, in the end, to be little quizzes designed to help us pass a bigger test.
So the next time your toddler is tantruming in the store, remember the quizzes that got you to this test. And consider this a quiz for an even bigger test. And laugh a little bit. It'll help.
No comments:
Post a Comment