Five Inches Between Faith and Fear

If the Lord delights in a man’s way, He makes his steps firm—Psalm 37:23

The pick-up and gooseneck crunched to a stop on the bumpy quilt of snow covering my ranch, bringing an end to the longest trailer ride of Cecil’s short life. The old gelding, Zip, kept the yearling colt company during the long trip to town and back, providing comfort during a new adventure.  That morning, I saw the gratifying fruit of my trailer training—he hopped in like he’d been hauled a million miles. Now we were home and the sun had long ago cast winter’s last shadow. 

In the dark, I unlatched the trailer door and discovered a wrinkle in Cecil’s training. When I tried to lead him out, he balked and put on the brakes at the door. Coaxing, cajoling and tapping his hind end did no good, nor did shining a light on the trailer’s edge. Apparently, the 5-inch drop from trailer to dirt looked like the gaping jaws of a colt-eating abyss. 

So, I decided to put his natural herd instincts to work. I led Zip out first, thinking little Cecil might follow his pal because horses—especially colts– hate to be left alone.  The result was pitiful. He wanted to be with Zip so bad, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to make the leap. He stuck one foot out and tapped the air like a hesitant swimmer testing new waters with his toe. Not immediately finding the ground, he jerked it back in and pawed the trailer floor in frustration. Time after time he repeated the process, but he found nothing soon enough to reassure him that solid earth would meet his foot. Pitying his plight, I pulled the trailer into a natural dip so that the ground would be closer. It didn’t work. 

Again, I attempted [to] urge him out. I wished with all my heart he would just trust me, and I told him so. Out of options, I finally just left him there with the door open. “I’m sorry Cecil but you and God are going to have to figure this one out,” I said, leaving him trembling in the trailer’s doorway. “I just don’t know what else to do for you.” 

Hungry and tired, I trudged toward the warm light of the old ranch house. My hands put away groceries and cooked dinner, but my heart was busy with prayers for a bewildered sorrel colt looking for courage on a cold dark night. About an hour later, I went out to check. A smile and a whisper of thanks crossed my lips when my flashlight found two horses–one young, one old—enjoying a dinner of hay together. 

Ambling back to the house, relief lightened my load and revelation dawned. How many times has God done that with me? Put me in situations where I had to take a step of faith, uncertain that something solid would reward my risk?  Oh how my Lord’s heart must melt with compassion when I stand there trembling, afraid to do what He asks of me just because I can’t see how it will work out. Often I start to step out but I get scared when it seems like solid answers are too far away to touch. Unlike me with Cecil, God is patient, wise, and full of understanding about what it takes to motivate his little children. Because of His masterful skill, I have often obeyed His urgings. And every time, I have landed safely in the arms of Him who loves me and always has my best in mind. 

And, unlike me, God will never leave or forsake me as I try, falter, and try again.  He will always be there, encouraging me, holding my hand, promising me success if I will just leap. He is our good Shepherd, and concerned about our every step, every graduation to new levels of faith and trust. So, though I cannot see, and though everything around me screams panic, I will find my courage and leap to the solid ground of His promises. After all, I may only be five inches from God’s best for my life and I don’t want to miss it. 

Copyright October 2010 Jean Nelsen