The Mule, the Missionary, and a Lesson in Pride

 While living in Wyoming, I had several exciting adventures. Some of them were planned, while others came about because I opened my mouth before giving my brain enough time to consider what I was saying. The Bible warns us:

“Whoso keepeth his mouth and his tongue keepeth his soul from troubles.”
—Proverbs 21:23, KJV

On this particular occasion, I failed to keep either one—and trouble was already standing in a corral waiting for me.

John Preston operated a guide business and owned several horses and pack mules. Most of the animals were well-broken and dependable, but there was one mule that had never been properly broken to ride. That mule had apparently made up his mind that no human being was ever going to sit comfortably upon his back.

One Sunday night after church, John, Ray, Mike, and I were sitting around talking. Somehow, the conversation turned to breaking horses and mules. I had grown up around horses and ponies, so I possessed just enough experience to be confident and just enough pride to be foolish.

Without giving the matter much thought, I announced, “I believe I could ride that mule without getting thrown.”

It was late on a Sunday night, and I never dreamed anyone would expect me to prove it. I thought my boast was safe. After all, surely no one would saddle an unbroken mule after dark merely to see whether a preacher could stay on its back.

I had forgotten an important truth:

“A fool’s mouth is his destruction, and his lips are the snare of his soul.”
—Proverbs 18:7, KJV

Ray quietly slipped out of the room. About fifteen minutes later, he returned with a grin on his face and announced, “The mule is saddled and ready.”

That was not what I had expected to hear.

To tell the truth, I had not planned to ride that mule that night—or any other night. I had simply been talking. But Mike, who had never ridden a horse, much less an unbroken mule, immediately began challenging me.

“All right, Truitt,” he said. “Let’s see you ride that mule.”

I was not ready, but I was not about to give Mike the satisfaction of watching me back down. Pride will cause a man to climb into some mighty dangerous saddles.

The Bible says:

“Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall.”
—Proverbs 16:18, KJV

That verse was about to become more than theology. It was about to become a practical demonstration.

We walked out to the corral. There stood the mule, saddled and waiting. There was no bit in his mouth—only a rope tied to his halter. As I walked closer, that mule seemed to grow larger with every step. From a distance, he had looked like an ordinary mule. Standing beside him, he looked about seventeen hands tall and nearly as wide as a barn.

I reached for the saddle horn, and the mule began to tremble. I do not know whether he was more frightened of me than I was of him, but I can tell you that both of us had serious concerns about what was about to happen.

I took my time. I spoke softly to him and rubbed his neck. Finally, I placed my foot in the stirrup and eased myself into the saddle.

I knew that if I could keep his head up, he would have difficulty bucking. I pulled the rope tight enough to prevent him from lowering his head. Then I wrapped the rope around the saddle horn and told Ray to untie him.

The mule turned around and began trotting away as calmly as if we were going out for an evening stroll. For a few seconds, I thought I had been right. Perhaps I really could ride him. Maybe all the warnings had been unnecessary.

That moment of confidence was my second mistake.

Because the mule seemed calm, I relaxed my grip and allowed a little slack into the rope. The moment I did, he dropped his head and exploded.

We went straight up into the air. Then we came down on all four stiff legs with enough force to shake my teeth. Before I could catch my breath, we were back in the air again. The mule was bucking, twisting, and doing everything within his power to separate me from the saddle.

I knew I was in trouble.

As we came down again, the mule turned his head to one side. I recognized what he was about to do. He was not merely trying to throw me—he intended to lie down and roll over on top of me.

I quickly kicked my feet out of the stirrups. Sure enough, he dropped one leg and began falling sideways. As his neck came close to the ground, I swung my leg over his head and stepped away from the saddle before he could roll over and crush me.

I walked away as calmly as I could, pretending that this was exactly how a man was supposed to dismount from a bucking mule.

The mule rolled on the ground, scrambled back to his feet, and took off running across the corral. I brushed myself off and walked back toward the others, trying to preserve what little dignity I had left.

Mike immediately declared, “You cheated! You didn’t ride the mule.”

“I certainly did ride him,” I answered.

John and Ray agreed with me. I had climbed into the saddle, stayed on while the mule bucked, and dismounted without being thrown. It might not have been a long ride, but it was a ride.

That should have been the end of the story.

It was not.

For the next two weeks, Mike became obsessed with riding that mule. He talked about it continually. I repeatedly warned him that the mule was dangerous and that I had been fortunate not to be seriously injured.

Mike would not listen.

The Bible says:

“The simple believeth every word: but the prudent man looketh well to his going.”
—Proverbs 14:15, KJV

Mike was determined to do more than look at where he was going. He intended to go there riding a mule.

Finally, we made another trip to John’s place. Ray was there helping John prepare for an upcoming guide trip. When they learned that Mike had come to ride the mule, both of them warned him that he could be seriously hurt.

Mike insisted.

He had not come merely to see the mule. He had come prepared to ride.

And when I say prepared, I mean that he had found a pair of English riding pants at the mission. He had also acquired a Daniel Boone-style coonskin cap, complete with a tail hanging down the back.

I do not know whether Mike believed the riding pants would make him an experienced horseman or whether the coonskin cap would give him the courage of a frontier hero. I can only say that he looked like Daniel Boone had joined the British cavalry.

The sight of him standing beside that mule was worth the trip.

Ray saddled the mule and tied the rope to the halter. Before Mike climbed aboard, I gave him the benefit of my limited experience.

“Wrap that rope around the saddle horn,” I told him, “and whatever you do, don’t let it slip. Keep the mule’s head up.”

Mike climbed into the saddle, pulled the rope tight, wrapped it around the saddle horn, and called out confidently, “Let him go!”

Ray released the mule.

Instead of bucking, the mule turned his hindquarters, squatted low, kicked up a cloud of dust, and took off like a shot out of a cannon.

Mike was holding on for dear life. His English riding pants were not helping him, and the tail on his coonskin cap was flying straight out behind him.

An irrigation ditch ran through the property. It was about twenty feet across and four feet deep, and it was filled with cold water. This happened during the winter. There was no snow on the ground, but the air was bitterly cold.

The mule headed directly toward that ditch.

For a moment, it appeared that he intended to jump it. Mike had no control over the animal and no way to change his direction. John, Ray, and I could do nothing but watch.

Just as the mule reached the edge of the ditch, it seemed as though all four of his feet came together at once. He planted them firmly, stopped suddenly, and turned sharply to one side.

The mule stopped.

Mike did not.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. Mike flew out of the saddle, over the mule’s head, through the cold winter air, and landed directly in the middle of that irrigation ditch.

Water shot into the air like a fountain.

The proper Christian response would have been to make sure Mike was not injured. However, John, Ray, and I were laughing so hard that none of us could move.

The Bible says:

“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”
—Proverbs 17:22, KJV

We received a great deal of medicine that day.

A few moments later, Mike climbed out of the ditch. He was soaking wet, nearly blue from the cold, and shaking all over. He came walking toward us while the three of us were still laughing. His riding pants were drenched, his coonskin cap was dripping water, and that proud tail was hanging limp down his back.

To say that Mike was unhappy would be putting it mildly.

Most men would have admitted defeat, changed into dry clothes, and gone home. Not Mike. He insisted that he was going to ride the mule again.

Ray caught the mule and brought him back. We tried to talk Mike out of it, but there was no changing his mind. He climbed back into the saddle for a second attempt.

I would like to say that his second ride was more successful.

It was not.

Apparently, the mule had learned exactly what to do. He gave a repeat performance. Once again, he ran toward the irrigation ditch, stopped suddenly, and sent Mike sailing through the air and into the cold water.

By that time, all three of us were laughing so hard that if Mike had actually been drowning, I am not sure we could have reached him.

Looking back, I must give Mike credit. He rode that mule longer than I did, and he certainly gave a better performance. I dismounted before the mule could roll over on me. Mike flew through the air and landed in an irrigation ditch—twice.

More than fifty years have passed, but I can still see him wearing those English riding pants and that coonskin cap, holding on while the mule raced toward the water. Every time I remember it, I smile.

Yet there was a lesson in that experience. Pride caused me to boast that I could ride the mule. Pride caused Mike to insist that he could ride it better. Neither one of us had enough wisdom to leave that animal alone.

The Lord protected both of us from serious injury, even though we had placed ourselves in danger. Sometimes God protects us from circumstances beyond our control. At other times, He graciously protects us from our own foolishness.

“The steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD: and he delighteth in his way.
Though he fall, he shall not be utterly cast down: for the LORD upholdeth him with his hand.”
—Psalm 37:23–24, KJV

I have learned that the Lord can use almost anything to teach us—even an unbroken Wyoming pack mule. He taught me to be careful about boasting, to respect danger, and to think before allowing pride to place me in a saddle I had no business occupying.

Solomon gave some mighty good advice:

“Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips.”
—Proverbs 27:2, KJV

If I had followed that advice on that Sunday night, I would never have climbed aboard that mule. But then again, Mike would not have landed in the irrigation ditch wearing English riding pants and a coonskin cap—and I would not have this wonderful story to tell.