The kids and I went trail riding on horseback in the high desert this summer.  It felt so adventurous.  We were at 5,000 feet elevation, out of cell service and hours from medical care.  The driving directions clearly stated to avoid following the GPS or phone maps.  Rather, we were to follow the progressively primitive "road" and count the cattleguards before turning left at the 'ol' stump.'  But before you think us homesteaders, it should be noted that the outhouse was brand new this season -- both the building and the hole in the ground; a higher class rustic, I suppose. 

Nonetheless, I signed the waivers and we listened to the safety speech, noting all the things horses are afraid of (things that move and things that don't, per the cowboy).  The kids chuckled -- some at the joke and some at the audacity of a man willing to offer such nonsense with sincerity -- "I think he tried to tell a joke, Dad.  Next time he should try harder." Children are quite wise at times. While we discussed the line between sarcasm and disrespect, the comic cowboy began pairing each person with their horse, doing some kind of equine matchmaking, considering size, personality match for the rider and riding order based on which horse was fond of which other horse. 

Comic Cowboy started with the lady in the big hat and her reluctant husband.  As they moved into retirement, this ride was her tryout for buying horses of her own and a feigned attempt at convincing the reluctant husband she was ready. Bold.  The Irish pub waiter-lady and her a boyfriend took the rear of the line while the kids and I filled in the middle.  My smallest child was the last rider paired.  Comic Cowboy wondered out loud if he should ride with me rather than on his own horse.  My child reminded the matchmaker of the name of the previous horse he'd ridden and I reminded the employee that I'd already signed the waiver.

Up the trail we went.  The horses were appropriately domesticated and mostly on auto-pilot.  Well into our ride, we were collectively dialing into the rhythm of our horses.  On occasion a horse would stop for a snack, inciting a rebuff from the cowboy's daughter who brought up the rear of the line.  'You'll make 'em barn sour.  Remember, you're in charge," she shouted to my 84 pound child, admonishing him to control his 733 pound steed.  'Dad, what's barn sour?' 'I have no idea, but let's not make the sequined lady mad.  She likely buried the last person that questioned her.'

An hour in, we'd settled in and rode with confidence.  At least until big hat lady grabbed her water bottle.  The crinkling of the plastic as she put it back in her wannabe-cowboy holster, spooking the horse and knocking her off like some kind of slo-mo rodeo in the process.  Comic Cowboy grabbed her horse as she lay on the ground moaning.  Her husband dismounted and came to her aid as they collectively decided that she was indeed hurt and needed medical attention as quickly as one could get off the mountain.  The husband quite literally rolled her under a bush while the Cowboy’s daughter took off like she was chasing a bandit in order to swap her horse for the truck.  Meanwhile, Irish Pub lady and the kids and I dismounted and debriefed. 

'You must always stay in control," noted the region's Guinness purveyor, "but you'll never be in charge."  Turns out her wisdom may be served in pints, but comes from years of working around horses.  'Horses are powerful animals that must remember you are in charge and you must never forget that you're not in control.'  Evidently, 'barn sour' is cowboy talk for 'forgets his training and doesn't want to work,' or forgetting who's in charge. 

On the way home, the kids and I talked about horse farts and sequin wearers and what it means to be in charge and in control.  Much of life, the kids learned, is uncontrollable. Horses, however well domesticated, are still large, powerful animals. 

Fear is similarly fierce.  The Scriptures most frequent command is 'do not fear.'  While I may not be able to control my fear, the Scriptures suggest (borrowing my metaphor) that I can be on charge of it, giving it to the Father; in charge even if not in control.

Parenting is eerily similar: I may be in charge of my kids, but I am certainly not in control and when I forget that, I get bucked off, so to speak.  I must remind my kids that I am in charge of their safety, outcomes, etc. until they're ready to ride on their own and I must not forget that I am not in control and any attempts to stake such a claim will result in a ride wilder than safe.