Note: I looked online for pictures related to immovable object and unstoppable force. The first notable picture was of Lebron James. But if you saw the NBA finals, you know he is neither. Other pictures included: a rubber band ball (what?), Mickey Mouse (why?), The Joker and Batman (I sort of get that one), Donald Trump (must be the hair), and (my favorite one) Chuck Norris.
Maybe the following will make it all clear . . . clear as mud . . . mud that's not mud.
When I was about 12 years old our family attended the Arcadia Rodeo. There was something about a rodeo that was so exciting. It was man vs beast. It was loud, fast, funny, and fun. The sights, sounds, and smells, yes, even the smells, were so different than what us city kids were used to experiencing.
There were two things that made this particular trip memorable. First, Tommy Butts (a good friend and co-worker of my father’s) was entered in the calf-roping event. Yes, I said Butts. You just can’t make up this stuff. My father and I had gone on a couple of hunting trips (hog and raccoon) with Tommy. So, I was very excited to see him in the event. Secondly, I entered the kids calf-catching contest. It would be comparable to the halftime show at a ballgame. Though I don’t remember Tommy's part of the evening, my part was most unforgettable to me, to my family, and to anyone else who paid attention that evening. I only wish I had a picture.
Now when I say, I entered the calf-catching contest, that doesn’t mean that I was privy to that knowledge before I arrived at the rodeo. Let’s just say that it was a responsibility that was thrust upon me. Just before the event Tommy took me out of the stands to inform me of my upcoming entry and to show me how to use his rope (lariat, riata, or reata). I could have refused the prodding from my family, but how could I refuse the invitation from a real cowboy - and such a cool one at that? Well, I couldn’t.
I remember how wonderful the rope felt in my hands. It was nothing like I thought it would be. It was stiff and rough to the touch. Tommy stood still and had me try to rope him. He taught me how to roll my wrist and let the rope fly. I hit him in the chest and the face before I successfully snagged him. That was the end of training. I was off to the big show.
Soon I was standing in a line with dozens of other kids at one end of the arena. I wasn’t dressed with a cowboy hat or boots like many of the other kids, but I had a cool rope, so I was good. The announcer told us that the calves would be released at the other end of the arena and that the first person to get past the judges with a calf would win the contest.
I kept looking and looking for those judges down by the gate where the calves would be released, but I didn’t see them. All I could think was that I must have to take the calf back the way it came. It didn’t make any sense that I could rope a calf and just keep running the same way it was already going. That would be too easy. I was sooooo wrong. The judges were standing at either end of our line, not at the other end of the arena (see crude, child-like drawing below).
Maybe the following will make it all clear . . . clear as mud . . . mud that's not mud.
When I was about 12 years old our family attended the Arcadia Rodeo. There was something about a rodeo that was so exciting. It was man vs beast. It was loud, fast, funny, and fun. The sights, sounds, and smells, yes, even the smells, were so different than what us city kids were used to experiencing.
There were two things that made this particular trip memorable. First, Tommy Butts (a good friend and co-worker of my father’s) was entered in the calf-roping event. Yes, I said Butts. You just can’t make up this stuff. My father and I had gone on a couple of hunting trips (hog and raccoon) with Tommy. So, I was very excited to see him in the event. Secondly, I entered the kids calf-catching contest. It would be comparable to the halftime show at a ballgame. Though I don’t remember Tommy's part of the evening, my part was most unforgettable to me, to my family, and to anyone else who paid attention that evening. I only wish I had a picture.
Now when I say, I entered the calf-catching contest, that doesn’t mean that I was privy to that knowledge before I arrived at the rodeo. Let’s just say that it was a responsibility that was thrust upon me. Just before the event Tommy took me out of the stands to inform me of my upcoming entry and to show me how to use his rope (lariat, riata, or reata). I could have refused the prodding from my family, but how could I refuse the invitation from a real cowboy - and such a cool one at that? Well, I couldn’t.
I remember how wonderful the rope felt in my hands. It was nothing like I thought it would be. It was stiff and rough to the touch. Tommy stood still and had me try to rope him. He taught me how to roll my wrist and let the rope fly. I hit him in the chest and the face before I successfully snagged him. That was the end of training. I was off to the big show.
Soon I was standing in a line with dozens of other kids at one end of the arena. I wasn’t dressed with a cowboy hat or boots like many of the other kids, but I had a cool rope, so I was good. The announcer told us that the calves would be released at the other end of the arena and that the first person to get past the judges with a calf would win the contest.
More recent photo of a similar event
I kept looking and looking for those judges down by the gate where the calves would be released, but I didn’t see them. All I could think was that I must have to take the calf back the way it came. It didn’t make any sense that I could rope a calf and just keep running the same way it was already going. That would be too easy. I was sooooo wrong. The judges were standing at either end of our line, not at the other end of the arena (see crude, child-like drawing below).
“On your mark. Get set. Go!” I immediately had my eye on a calf in the distance. I was running, swinging, and scheming. I hadn't run very far when a calf that was moving toward me ran right beside me. I instantly drop the rope over the calf’s head. I was by far the first one to rope a calf. If I had just turned and run with the calf, I would have won within a minute or two of the start the contest.
But alas, I thought the calf had to go the opposite direction, so I had to turn that calf around. It was man vs beast, but the beast knew more than the man. I became the immovable object. The calf, of course, was the unstoppable force.
I could see the slack quickly going out of the rope, so I dug in and leaned back. When the calf hit the end, the rope said, “Twanggggggg,” But the calf didn’t stop, and I didn’t lose my spot. It simply turned right and kept running – kept running in circles around me. It wasn’t exactly my plan, but I still wasn’t losing, and it still wasn’t winning. That quickly changed when three other calves crossed the rope and knocked us both down. A problem? Yes, the calf got up first.
That calf dragged me all over the mud that wasn’t mud. But I wouldn’t let go of the rope. I was stepped on, bloodied, dirtied, smelled up, laughed at, embarrassed, and exhausted; but I didn’t let go of the rope. I was thrown against a fence. I grabbed it, stood up, and steadied myself, but I didn’t let go of the rope. Finally, when it was all over, one of the officials came over and released the calf. He looked at me with a pitiful look and pointed to the exit. Maybe he thought I couldn’t find my way out either. But I was still holding that rope.
I think we left for home soon after I got back into the stands. I didn’t look or smell very good. We drove the two hours back to Tampa with the windows down, and I don’t think my mom said a word to my dad all the way home.
Later I was told that while I clutched the fence and rope, Tommy, my Dad, and others were outside the double fence yelling at me to let go, but I didn’t hear them. So, I held on. Perhaps some thought I was stupid or stubborn. Maybe others thought of me as determined to win. Some really thought I was a rodeo clown. But none was true. As I left the arena someone asked why I didn’t let it go. I simply said, “It wasn’t mine.”
Just as the rope wasn't mine, neither is my life my own; It was bought with a price (the blood of Christ). When the Christian life gets difficult, and I get discouraged and worn out. When I’m tired, broken, bloodied, and beaten (and have any thought of quitting), I remember that rope and hang on. I hang on to my trust in God
God's plan is never thwarted. He is never taken by surprise. He is omnipotent, omniscient, omnipresent. I don't hang on for me or in my strength. I hang on with His strength because He is sovereign (in control). So, I hang on. You do the same. MM
Submit yourselves therefore to God.
Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.
Draw nigh to God, and he will draw nigh to you.
