LESSONS FROM AN ASIAN ELEPHANT
I've been a pretty lucky schmoe. Fortunate would be a better word. I was raised in the tiny village of Swanton, Ohio. Not much happens in Swanton. My dad was a factory worker, and my mom was a waitress. Nothing special about my pedigree. I was a country boy who, looking back, was pretty naive. Actually, I have been most of my life.
My IQ hovers around average. Pretty much in the middle of the deck in every area. I've often felt like a poser, an imposter who would never succeed if it were not for the grace of God. An average dude who had unlikely opportunities placed in his lap. For this, I am humbled and blessed beyond what I deserve.
For instance, I have been able to take rides on the backs of a variety of interesting animals. It started when I was two. We had an English Bulldog. His name was Butch. I used to do my best to ride that slobbering, sneezing, wheezing beast. I still commemorate the date of his death to this day.
Of course, there have been the occasional horses. I rode one guy in Nevada named Stud. I rode a camel in the shadow of the Great Pyramid. Contrary to common belief, they DON’T spit. At least not in my presence.
But the most interesting has been the elephants.
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A bunch of us rode elephants in Nepal a few years back. We were seated in these big leather saddles, something you would see in an Indiana Jones movie. We even crossed a river while on its posterior. I am not a swimmer, so the only thing worse than going in the drink would be taking a plunge-- and having a clumsy elephant fall on me. Fortunately, I avoided that misadventure.
I rode one in the jungle of Thailand, with massive tropical leaves whacking me in the face, almost knocking me off the brute. This time, without a saddle. Not up to code and, looking back, not an intelligent thing to do. (Is it any wonder that when I go on a trip, my wife always says, in this order, "I love you. Don't do anything stupid!" Not kidding. Every. Time.
If you have had the opportunity to ride an elephant, too, you may have noticed their hair. Nothing warm and fuzzy going on there. Their hairs are long and coarse. Their bodies appear to have been wrapped in gray sandpaper with whiskbroom-like hairs protruding in all directions. So weird.
Of course, these stately, beautiful creatures are not only intriguing, but they are impressively strong. They are used worldwide to remove stumps from farmer's fields, demolish large trees, and have even been weaponized for use in ancient wars. Pure muscle.
You've probably heard it before, but it bears repeating. If you tie one of these mammals to an 18-inch stake while young, they will not try to dislodge the stake when they become an adult. They become victims of learned helplessness. They quit trying. So sad.
What’s your stake? Can you name it? There's a decent chance that you and I have a lot in common.
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We are pretty average. We are loaded with insecurities. We have regrets. We're decent people trying to find our way on this Jesus journey. Trying to have a genuine faith that is lived out in authentic love. We are not over the top special, but we are doing our best to find a bit of happiness on this planet while endeavoring to put a smile on Jesus' face. Not because he is a grouch that we must please but because we love him so much that we delight in the pursuit.
But we got stakes.
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That stupid choice you made in high school. You just can't wish it away. Or, pray it away.
The marriage. The one where you wish you could have a do-over.
That gnawing, aching, resilient voice at the back of your brain, just behind your amygdala, keeps whispering that you are average. The one that drives you to over-represent yourself in social settings and at your workplace. You know the voice. The one that keeps you from apologizing to people you have offended over the last decade.
They are mental 18-inch stakes. You are an adult. You don't have to live this way anymore. Today, you can pull that little wooden peg out of the ground-- and wing it! Forgive yourself for what you didn't know once upon a time—but now you know better. That's called GROWTH, for crying out loud. Forgive yourself for being an arrogant twit. You can become a recovering arrogant twit with His help. You can embrace that average person you are—and ask your Creator to remind you who you really are—His little, average, very-loved child.
No more need for posturing or trying to impress others with your wit, charm, or abilities. Claim your average status and go make your mark in the world. No need to scrutinize—or envy-- my mark or your brother's mark. Go do your best. That is all anyone's asking.
For extra credit, list the dudes and ladies in the Bible—and throughout recent history-- that God used/is using right now. They were often extraordinarily average. And, if they were a part of the Kool Kids Club, well, good for them. He wants to use all of us in different ways. He even loves to use our flub-ups.
PS: The fifth person to email me explaining the difference between an African elephant and an Asian elephant, without outside assistance (Google!), will receive a gift from another country. Ready-set------go! ☺
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