One day I was out with a grandchild on my ATV—essentially a four-wheeled motorcycle, called a “quad bike” by people from Europe. We came across two teenagers on ATVs, and they followed us after learning that we were taking trails unknown to them.
Our journey took us through some rough terrain, a creek, and some deep mud holes. I detoured around one bog, however—rather than through it—because it was my assessment that even an ATV couldn’t negotiate that particular depth and slime.
Typical of their age and gender—certain of their invincibility—the two boys attempted to plow through the bog. They almost reached the other side, but their wheels began to spin in the mud. I suggested that they stop spinning their wheels and accept the help of the power winch attached to the front of my vehicle.
“We got it,” they said, assuring me that they had things under control. But as they gunned their engines and spun their wheels, they just sank deeper in the mud. Finally, they stopped and asked for help. With a firm footing on dry land, I pulled them from the hole they were stuck in, and soon they were on their way.
Most of us are stuck in the mud of our lives. Because the bog is so enormous, and everyone we know is in the same situation we are, we don’t even recognize that we’re stuck. We just keep spinning our tires, along with everyone else, oblivious to the fact that we’re not moving anywhere. We even come to accept the spinning of tires as evidence of our progress. Everyone else is doing it, we reason, so how could it be wrong?
But spinning our tires—doing the same things over and over—will never get us out of the mudhole. Almost without exception, we need the help of someone on dry land, who can throw us a line and help us out of the mire. It’s not a weakness to ask for or receive help. I gladly offered my cable to the two boys, without condescension, and they were grateful for the aid. We can all find such help, and if we are wise, we will accept it wholeheartedly.
