Falling off horses

So my Grandpa’s memoirs have appeared… I’m going to get out of the way and let him “talk” to you for a bit. First a few facts: Grandpa’s name was Berge Revne. Grandma was Herborg Revne. My dad was Harold Revne, and he was an only child. (None of them live on this earth any longer.) If I chime into Grandpa’s story, my words will be in brackets.

Back in those days we traveled almost exclusively on horseback. Our first trip to Lere [the second mission site] was before Harold’s birth. A government man from Lere, who we had contacted earlier, sent a young man as our guide. (It was the rainy season and the roads were bad.) We came to a swollen stream which was too wide for our horses to jump over and too deep for them to wade through. My wife and I both had horses at this time. After moments of contemplating, we decided to have the horses jump. Directly across from the creek stood two date palm trees quite close together... My horse aimed for the space of ground between the trees, which happened to be almost wide enough for my African saddle. As the horse leaped between the palms he stripped the saddle off his back, with me still sitting on it. The horse continued to run out of sight leaving me reclining [love your word choice, Grandpa] on the ground.

In the meantime, my wife’s horse had also attempted to jump across. But his efforts were in vain, for they landed in the middle of the creek, stuck in the muddy bottom. [I’m picturing something similar to a Romancing the Stone scene where Kathleen Turner slides through the mud…]

We left Yagoua in the middle of June, 1923, traveling on to Bosgoi. [My Dad was born in Sept. 1922, so is now with them...] A revival had started in Bosgoi a few years earlier. From there we went down to Fianga. Staying there in the afternoon, we were ready to go again at night. Traveling at night was necessary because Harold, our baby son, couldn’t take the heat of the sun.

We tried to make the distance shorter to Yogi. There we experienced a very hot and humid day, one of the worst days of that season. There I was taken sick because of the heat, for two days during which time we experienced a terrific thunder storm. After the rain let up, the roads were exceedingly muddy and slippery, but we had to go on because there was no one stationed at Lere at this time.

My wife and I had one horse between us. I put her and Harold on the horse and I walked beside them. Because of the slippery roads, the horse fell, bringing my wife and child along with it. The fall struck my wife unconscious. When she came to, the first thing she said was, “Where are we?” I thought she may have had a brain injury but later she talked sensibly. The latter comforted me much. [A sensibly-talking woman is evidently a very good thing...] Going on we arrived safely at Lere.

Okay, I don’t know about you, but if I was my Grandma, I’d be wondering if Grandpa was thinking and talking sensibly! Expecting me to take my nine-month-old son on horseback over slippery African roads, with a muddy-creek-bottom-fall in my recent history? Seriously…would I be tempted to doubt his love for me? And if I’m Grandpa – knowing God has called me to this risky place, and yet wanting to protect my wife and baby boy - would I be wondering if God was thinking and talking sensibly to me? Would I be tempted to doubt His love for me?

And I’m me, and it’s 2010. Do I wonder if God is thinking and talking sensibly to me right now? He’s definitely sending me out of my comfort zone – what if I slip and fall? Do I doubt His love for me? Honestly, I can’t... His love has never ever failed me. Although I’ve given Him good reason to turn His holy back on me; He never has. When I slip and fall, my only choice is to get right back in the saddle like Grandma did.